


The Oracle

by My_Alter_Ego



Category: White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dangerous Diseases, Deaths of Some Secondary Characters, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Invasions, Multi, Pillaging and Plundering, Premonitions, dichotomies, slave fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-03-09 08:06:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 28,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18912925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Alter_Ego/pseuds/My_Alter_Ego
Summary: In this AU fiction, Neal is a young man living on a peaceful island during a time lost in the long ago realms of shrouded mystery. He is a rather unique individual because he was born with the ability to foresee the future. Neal considers this gift to be a curse, and his challenge is to accept what he cannot change. That becomes very difficult when Peter’s armada of warships invade his homeland and he is taken captive.I think the muse behind this story was my fascination with “Game of Thrones.” Or maybe I just like creating exciting action-filled fantasies unfolding in exotically strange places. But then, perhaps I simply like to spool out stories of reluctant star-crossed lovers who fight their destinies every step of the way. I hope you will enjoy reading of that battle as well.





	1. Chapter 1

Neal was quite unaware of the beauty surrounding him. That was understandable. He took it for granted because it was the only place the young boy had ever known in his short life. The verdant fields, the gently lapping waves of the sea, and the majestic mountains that seemed to embrace the island were familiar and normal to him. It would only be much later, when his tutoring commenced, that he would come to learn the name of his birthplace—Utopia. He was told that the actual word harkened back to some long dead civilization, but it seemed rather bizarre that the original derivation of the term, literally translated, meant “nowhere.”

Well, obviously, Neal lived somewhere and that was a peaceful bustling metropolis of pristine white buildings housing a rather unique citizenry. He never knew either his father or his mother. The man who sired him would always remain a mystery, but he was told the woman who carried him within her body was too fragile to withstand his entry into the world. When he was old enough to understand, Neal felt a sensation of sadness about his part in her death that his counselor called guilt. Then the gentle old man assured a conflicted boy that her passing was simply something that had been preordained. It was meant to be and beyond anyone’s control.

The Utopian society didn’t have a word for “orphan.” The concept was irrelevant because no child was ever really alone or adrift in this benevolent world. Each and every offspring was simply enfolded into a family that encompassed every human being in this compassionate microcosm of souls. It was sometimes hard for a growing boy or girl to truly remember their actual parents because they belonged to every man and woman on the island. Each was loved, cosseted, and disciplined by mentoring and kind people.

The communal type of upbringing seemed to work. Children felt happy and secure during their formative years, and enjoyed blissful freedom and a lack of inhibition. Because of the warm, sometimes hot climate, urchins were usually scampering about without a stitch of clothing on their prepubescent bodies. Perhaps, because that was the norm, there was no curiosity concerning sexual differences. Girls were girls and boys were boys, and that’s all one needed to know. As the young grew older and hormones kicked in, experimentation between the sexes was benignly tolerated. That was normal, too, and it didn’t matter if it manifested in different or same sex encounters. It was thought that each individual needed to find his erotic niche, and there was no such thing as shame.

When Neal reached an age when he was deemed ready to assimilate knowledge, he joined other youngsters in an open-type forum, diligently soaking up the wondrous nuggets of information from various learned individuals. It soon became obvious that he had an exceptional intellect, so he was singled out for a more intense education. It was an esoteric one-on-one schooling encompassing history, mathematics, foreign languages, and even lively philosophical debates. Darius, his patient and wise old tutor, filled in the blanks for a young boy with an insatiable thirst for facts. Neal learned about a universe that reached far beyond the placid shores of his present home.

“Do not remain complacent in our world,” Darius would intone solemnly during his many lectures. “It was not always like this, and it will not always remain so in the future.”

“How do you know that?” a curious boy asked.

“I just know things,” the old man said succinctly without a further explanation.

“So, tell me about the old days,” Neal begged.

The old man smiled at his protégé’s inquisitiveness. “Many eons ago, our beautiful land saw many invaders walk onto our shores. Most were not good and kind people. They came to conquer, and marauding and massacring were their intent. During the last incursion, almost all of our ancient populace was vanquished. However, a few hardy souls managed to escape into the high mountains to hide themselves in caves. It was a hard life for those individuals, and they subsisted on the pure will to survive. They vowed that they would wait out the aggressors and return to start over because it was a prophesy foretold by the elders. Another thing that emerged from that atrocious adversity was a dedicated sense of purpose. If those displaced men and women managed to cheat death, they vowed it would never happen again. Now you know the centuries-old tradition of Utopia’s standing army.”

Of course, Neal knew of the legions of daunting men and women who stood impressively strong and tall in their leather breastplates wielding their swords and slender fighting sticks. The children of the city would venture out onto the nearby plains to watch them train before they eventually lined up, shoulder to shoulder, in assault formation. Neal knew that when his own body filled out to its adult potential, he would join these formidable ranks and become a protector of the realm, ready to defend his island nation, if necessary. The people of Utopia were never the aggressors, but they would guard their idyllic island and do what was necessary if a threat loomed on the horizon. They would fight until the last breath was squeezed from their lungs.

“So, tell me more about the invaders,” a very young boy prodded his tutor. “What did they look like? Were they fierce and ugly with horns on their heads?”

“They were mere mortals, Neal, without any horns or supernatural powers. They didn’t have dragons or magical prowess, even though they often had a sorceress or two in their midst who studied the entrails of sacrificial animals. They sailed in from the North in thick smelly furs with iron helmets that covered their dark shaggy hair. Their skin was light and their eyes a curious blue. Perhaps a barbarian may have been one of your ancestors because you greatly resemble what has been inscribed in our history books.”

Early on, Neal had taken note that he didn’t really look like his playmates with their olive complexions and liquid brown eyes. He would study his image in a mirror and try to envision the two sculptors who had created him. Did his father possess those sharp high cheekbones? Did his mother peer out at the world with aquamarine eyes that resembled the sea? Now he wondered anew about his ancestry. Could a long-ago Northern invader been part of his heritage? The old man’s words were unsettling. Neal realized he was frowning because he was never sure if his mentor was being serious or simply teasing him. “Keep on with your story, Darius,” he prompted.

The old man obliged and continued. “Well, eventually, each group of invaders became bored after there was nothing remaining to pillage, and only women and children left to kill. They climbed onto their great behemoths that sailed the seas and departed on yet another murderous quest. Although they were physically gone, many left their legacies behind in the bellies of island women.”

“I’m not some philistine’s progeny,” Neal said heatedly, angry that Darius was belaboring a point.

“Would it matter if you were, my young friend?” Darius said softly. “What matters is who you have become in this life. Each of us has a purpose, a destiny to fulfill. We can deny and try to negate what’s been written in the heavens, but, in the end, the truth wills out. Perhaps I am like those mysterious seers,” the old man finally confessed, “because I have had dreams about your days to come. You will have a long and eventful life, Neal, a sometimes hard existence, but you will persevere.”

“So, you do admit that you have visions!” the young student pounced.

“Perhaps,” Darius conceded, “but then I think you do as well.”

Neal felt uncomfortable under the old man’s unrelenting stare. The boy had never confided in anyone about this troubling phenomenon. It always frightened him because the strange dreams eventually came true and played out in real life. The terrible fact was that the prophetic boy never envisioned good things about to happen. He only witnessed distressing images that he didn’t want to share. He remembered the first time he had become aware of what he thought was an affliction, but, later in life, he would deem it a curse.

Neal initial precognition coincided with his first brush with mortality. He was probably little more than five or six years old. Like all children raised in a laissez faire environment, none had yet learned to be fearful of new experiences. Being afraid just wasn’t in their comfortable realm of sheltered security. They roamed across the serene island in tight-knit little packs looking for the next adventure, no matter how dangerous it might be. Perhaps all innocent children perceived themselves as invincible.

Neal's close friend was an amiable but intrepid little boy named Anton, and the two were almost inseparable. One hot and sunny afternoon, a little cadre of friends climbed high up onto a rocky promontory overlooking a peaceful lagoon many meters below. Tropical, wind-swept trees ringed the area, and the children had managed to pull a climbing vine away from a nearby arboreal trunk. It would be the perfect tool for them to swing out into the air before cannonballing into the deep blue water. Anton was eager to go first as a line of giddy and enthusiastic children formed. Neal hung back and looked pensive. If he had been able to give his apprehension a name, it would have been fear.

“Maybe that’s not such a good idea, Anton,” he cajoled.

“Sure it is, Neal,” his little friend said happily. “It’ll be fun. Look, I’ll go first to show you how it’s done, and then you can follow me when it’s your turn.”

“Okay,” Neal replied hesitantly, trying to tamp down a horrific image from a recent dream. Like a persistent phantom, it had kept recurring night after night and it never faded in the light of day. Over and over, his dream eyes saw his friend suspended momentarily in the air before rapidly dropping onto the spiky pinnacles of the unforgiving rocks below. Neal’s last image of Anton was his distorted broken body with arms splayed out as if he was reaching for some savior to rescue him from death.

As foreseen, the tragedy unfolded when the flimsy vine snapped before Anton had achieved an adequate trajectory, and he fell straight down like a stone. When Neal peered over the edge of the cliff, it was his precise dream which had now become a horrific reality.

The whole village mourned the little child’s premature passing, and none was more distraught than Neal who thought he could have prevented the tragedy. Eventually, one of the town elders gently took the weeping boy aside and offered words of comfort. “Fate has a plan for each of us,” he whispered softly. “Thankfully, we are not aware of what that may be. If we were to know such things, perhaps many of us would give up and surrender our hopes and dreams. We wouldn’t allow our footsteps to take us into the unknown. We wouldn’t _live,_ and that would be a tragedy as terrible as death. Anton was a light in your past that has been extinguished. You are now standing in the glow of your present. Eventually that will also dim as you move toward the light in your future. You must be brave and move ahead, accepting what you cannot change.”

Neal really didn’t understand this cryptic advice, but, eventually, he was able to quiet his angst and nestle Anton in a special place in his heart where he would never die. Over the years, many others would join that childhood playmate in Neal’s special cache. As time passed, a young man’s prophetic dreams would show him other terrifying harbingers of encroaching death.

As a teenager, he dreamed of nature’s wrath when a lightning bolt from a malevolent storm ignited a conflagration that quickly burned through the city. Buildings became infernos that swallowed up unfortunate residents. Perhaps the screams that Neal heard in his nightmares were his own as he watched parodies of human beings flee in panic as the skin melted from their bodies. The reality when it came to pass was just as grim as the dream.

Several years later, the tremors in a teenager’s nighttime reverie caused him to surge awake with a start. Sweating and panicked, he quickly sat up only to find that all was quiet and still around him. The earth would move again and again beneath his feet in subsequent dreams, but eventually there was also another danger lurking in the dark. Neal helplessly witnessed a wall of water as tall as the buildings on the city square crash onto the streets as people scurried like ants before they were carried away in the roaring surf.

Many weeks later, an earthquake deep within the ocean would open up a schism. As water poured into that trough, there was a natural backlash in the form of a monstrous tidal wave churning toward shore. Inhabitants of Utopia scrambled to scale the surrounding mountains—a  frightened mob of humanity valiantly carrying and pulling the old and the young along in an attempt to escape certain death. Many made it to safety but many did not. It took several weeks to locate all the bloated bodies and give them a solemn burial.  

Eventually, Neal grew into the physique of a man with broad shoulders, a trim waist, and slim hips. He was now one of the specially trained militia entrusted with protecting a populace from all enemies. As was the custom, he lived in co-ed barracks with other men and women during their tours of duty. Neal enjoyed the company of the nubile females, who quite often sought out his bunk and enticed him with soft caresses and wet luscious lips and mouths. For each of the eager participants, it was an exploration of what felt good and how to enjoy the bliss of the moment.

But erotic fulfillment could be found in many different shapes and forms, and Neal became most attracted to a handsome young man named Caden. The long-legged youth was just as physically appealing as Neal, and they made a striking couple as they stood, shoulder to shoulder, during the grueling military exercises. Caden had an even temperament with a contagious zest for life. When things would go wrong, he would optimistically look to the future and truly believe there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Neal innately knew Caden never suffered the angst of disturbing dreams. Instead, he awoke to each new day with an avid eagerness that only matched his anticipation of spending his nights in Neal’s bed. When they came together, the pleasure was sublime. Each had patiently learned the other’s erogenous zones and used fingers and tongues to tantalize and please. It was usually Caden who would push into Neal’s dark depths and work him into a frenzy until his lover begged for release. Neal loved Caden with an intensity that scared him, especially when, sometime later in the relationship, the beautiful Utopian appeared in his nightly dreams.

At first, Neal didn’t want to face what past experiences had taught him. Over the course of many nights, he would over-imbibe of strong wine to deaden his senses so the dreams could be held at bay. But that was just avoiding what Neal knew was inevitable. What was to be would be. He had struggled to internalize a sad truth many years ago—he couldn’t change what fate had preordained.  


	2. Chapter 2

Night after night while he slept beside his lover, Neal would glimpse what was to come. In his dream he found himself on a sandy beach staring in fascination at the sea before him. Actually, it was hard to discern the blue water because upon its surface was a vast armada of dark shapes stretching as far as the horizon. Neal watched helplessly as those ominous shapes advanced like a swarm of wasps. He witnessed curious balls of fire explode from the sides of the vessels which succeeded in sending deadly projectiles onto the land. Little by little, the Utopian militia was becoming decimated as both men and women fell beneath the barrage. Eventually, actual human beings clad in heavy armor arrived sitting atop magnificent strange creatures with flaring nostrils and quivering flanks. One by one, the defenders of Utopia standing in their way were mown down like sheaves of hay in the field.

Of course, in this dream Neal was front and center, right beside Caden, as they both stood steadfast while raising their shields and their swords. They would continue to stand, proud and erect, until they were no longer able to draw a breath. Neal was so preoccupied parrying the assault of the invader in front of him that it took a few seconds before he felt the impact to his head that made him fall. He was suddenly staring up at the blue sky while hearing agonizing screams around him. A few seconds later, he became aware of a heavy weight on top of his prone body and he sensed the warmth of fresh blood seeping across his torso. Turning his head lethargically, he found himself getting lost in Caden’s unseeing eyes.

When it became hard for Neal to function each morning after a night of horror, he decided to seek out Darius, his childhood mentor. It was years since he had seen the old man who had confessed to having his own visions. Neal knew the wise scholar was now quite aged and infirm. The women in the city made sure he was cared for and comfortable in his dotage, although it was well-known that his mind had begun to wander.

“The poor soul isn’t having a very good day,” one of his caretakers told the young man. “For the last week, he’s been ranting and raving and making no sense at all. We all try to keep him calm, but recently that’s become quite difficult to do. Maybe seeing one of his old students will center him a bit.”

The kind and merciful woman had been correct. Neal heard the excited and querulous murmuring as soon as he went down a hall to the old man’s room. Neal wondered if he would even be recognized by an individual with a meandering focus not anchored in the present. At first, it didn’t seem as if Darius was aware of Neal’s presence, and he continued with his tirade about horrifying things that his clouded mind was conjuring up. Then, it seemed as if a different persona had suddenly entered his body because Darius turned to his visitor with eyes that were sharp and clear.

“It will come to pass very soon,” the sage old man intoned softly. “You are here to ask me if what you saw can be averted, but in your heart, you must know that it cannot. The future will unfold as it is preordained, and we are unable to alter our fate. You, dear boy, can only try to endure.”

Just as spontaneously as that bit of wisdom had been imparted, Darius’ mania returned and he was again rocking back and forth and mumbling incoherently. Neal left him to his troubled introverted world and came away deeply depressed. Why must he see the future if he couldn’t change it?

Of course, Caden noticed Neal’s mental preoccupation, and finally, after coming together late at night in Neal’s bed, he gently asked the question. “Tell me what’s going on in your head, Neal. I know something’s terribly wrong, so let me help.”

“You can’t help,” a troubled young man replied poignantly. “Nobody can.”

“How do you know that unless you tell me about the problem?” Caden asked softly.

Instead of confessing about prophetic dreams of tragedy, Neal’s response seem to hold deeper meaning. “What do you think happens after we die, Caden? Do we just simply cease to exist because who we once were has been erased forever? Is death merely tantamount to losing all past memories and being incapable of forming new ones? Or is death just the commencement of a void that swallows us up and we’re gone from everyone we love?”

“Do you fear death, Neal? Is that what’s bothering you?” his lover asked quizzically.

“What I fear is losing the essence of the people in my world,” Neal said softly. “Do you believe in a soul, Caden? Does a soul still go on after a body dies?”

“How can we really know?” Caden whispered. “But if some of our ethereal energy does survive our corporal shell’s death, I know the two of us—our energies—will be as one for all of eternity.”

When Neal remained silent, Caden pulled his introspective lover into his arms. “We’re both young and healthy so I think you can stop worrying about death and souls for a few decades. I think what you should worry about is getting us both aroused again because the morning will come far too soon.”

~~~~~~~~~~

It was just a fortnight later that goat herders noticed the advancing tableau from high up on their craggy perches in the mountains. They quickly descended to inform the city council of the ominous impending threat. Able-bodied people gathered together and hastened up the side of a quiescent volcano to seek refuge in the caldera’s crevices. Old people and young children unable to manage the climb were sent below the town to take shelter in the ancient tombs and catacomb-like tunnels. The militia was assembled on the shore and was steadfastly facing the sea.

When the arriving boats came closer, hovering just beyond the breakwater, unarmored elders of the council walked bravely out to the edge of the surf and waited patiently to see the newcomers’ intent. It didn’t take long to ascertain that these invaders had not come in peace. A blast from the mighty weapons on the lead craft in the fleet cut the old men down like feeble splinters of wood. As if a silent command had been passed, small boats were quickly lowered and an army of men hellbent on murder and mayhem made their steady advance. Over and over they swarmed towards the island, some just stopping briefly to lurch onto the backs of huge animals that they somehow controlled.

The militia fought bravely, but they were greatly outnumbered and fighting with weapons far inferior to those of their enemies. The well-armored marauders had mighty swords and battle axes that cut through swath after swath of Utopians who stood bravely in place until every last man had been beaten into the ground. The grains of sand ran red with their blood, and agonizing moans and cries mingled with the grunts and swearing of the victors who walked among the carnage still piercing prone helpless bodies with their long spears. When the evil men tired of desecrating the dead and dying, they marched on towards the city to claim their booty.

Peter stood on the shore among a multitude of fallen victims after the massacre ended. It wasn’t the first bloody sacking of a city that he had witnessed in a determined ongoing crusade that was entering its second year. And he knew it certainly wouldn’t be the last. There was always going to be somebody who wanted what someone else possessed, and it boiled down to might rather than right. The strong overpowered the weak and took what they desired by force. It was the way the world seemed to work, and sometimes human beings were more savage than packs of wild animals.

While determined raiders trudged through bodies towards the walls of the city to rape and pillage, Peter felt a deep fatigue claim him. He was so tired of being an agent of death, a purveyor of annihilation. He longed to return home to his land and his beloved wife where he would plant crops, breed horses, drink fine wine and make love. That is what would bring him peace and joy, not pieces of gold or silver. He had fulfilled his duty as an agent of the consortium that wanted to rule the world, so, at that moment, Peter made a decision. When the armada made their way farther south, he would turn the bow of his ship into the northerly winds and be done with all this senseless killing.

Peter gathered up the reins of his black stallion and began backing away, sickened by the circling raptors hovering over what would be carrion for them. Some of the sea birds had already landed on bodies and were driving their sharp beaks into open glassy eyes. These predators were fearlessly bold, and many had swooped in and alighted on victims just a few strides away from the tall warrior. Suddenly, from the edge of his vision, Peter saw a hand rise up weakly, no match against a ravenous seagull. It was but a feeble attempt to prevent the inevitable. Peter was many things, but he was no sadist. If one of the brave islanders still had some life in his body, he didn’t deserve a slow torturous flaying by birds of prey. The foreign raider walked over and kicked at the white avian menace. It was then that he realized there were actually two bodies lying at his feet, piled up like kindling. Peter peeled off the young defender on top who seemed to have used himself as a human shield for his comrade in arms. That unfortunate companion was now staring up at Peter with eyes that still held a spark of life in them.

As Peter gazed down at the vanquished man whose thin leather breastplate had all but been torn from his torso, he realized how young he appeared—little more than a boy and much too young to be dying of a grave wound that was pumping his life’s blood down the once white tunic he wore. The merciful thing to do was to put an end to his suffering. Peter huffed out a breath and drew his sword from the scabbard on his side. Placing both of his hands on its hilt, he was ready to plunge the blade into the boy’s heart to send him on his way to the hereafter. Then Peter hesitated for just a second and waged a war with his conscience. If he was going to take this brave life, then at least he, the executioner, should be brave enough to look his victim in the eye when he did it. What he saw when he looked down hit him like a punch to his gut. The fallen youth was gazing up at Peter with eyes that were so like Elizabeth’s. His wife’s were a beautiful azure blue and Peter loved getting lost in their clear depths. El was his heart and soul, and he loved her with an intensity so strong, it sometimes scared him. This young warrior with his similar dark hair and light eye color could have been her twin in another life.

During Peter’s quick observation, the youth was watching Peter unflinchingly. There was no distress or panic in his stare, just acceptance and resignation of what was to come. Peter stared back and time seemed to stand still for a few moments as a determined would-be slayer stood at a crossroads. Finally, Peter slowly lowered his weapon and knelt down beside the boy. He wrenched up the blood-soaked clothing to assess the severity of the wound, but was surprised to detect no laceration or puncture anywhere on the lean torso. There was an obvious injury to the boy’s skull. Red rivulets were steadily forming a dark halo around his head. Peter reckoned the rest of the blood had flowed from the man who had lain atop him.

Peter never really understood why he did what he did at that moment. Perhaps it was just the first step in what could be called penance for past sins. With a grunt, he hoisted a suddenly tense body onto his shoulders and moved toward his steed. As he draped the boy across the horse’s back, he suddenly went limp and Peter wondered if he would be transporting a corpse back to his ship.


	3. Chapter 3

There was just a skeleton crew left on Peter’s ship, a boatswain who maintained the vessel’s rigging and anchor, a few scrawny cabin boys, and a greater number of unwashed swabbies. He grabbed hold of one young ragamuffin and ordered the urchin to bring a bucket of water to his quarters. Peter’s cabin was small, even though he was the Captain of the mighty frigate. It contained the bare essentials—a small berth, a desk, and one chair. Peter laid his prisoner atop the feather mattress on that narrow bed and stood for several minutes until he was satisfied that the young man’s chest still rose and fell. When the cabin boy returned with the bucket of water, he stood wide-eyed in the doorway until Peter shooed him away with a growl.

Peter perched beside the still figure and began to remove his garments and sandals. The young warrior was well-muscled if lean, and quite nicely endowed between his long legs. Peter sighed as he thought of all the other healthy, vibrant youths who wouldn’t be using their cocks to create the next generation on that sad little island. Today’s act had seemed like an atrocious sin against humanity, but then nobody had asked for Peter’s point of view.

Peter’s large hands tried to be gentle as he washed the blood from the unconscious form, and he was gratified to see that the laceration on the side of the boy’s head had begun to clot. When the ship’s Captain was done with his task, he pulled a thin muslin sheet up to the victim’s waist. Time would tell if this young captive would become aware of his new situation. Maybe, more importantly, Peter had to decide what to do with this albatross if he were to become cognizant and prove unruly.

By nightfall, the rest of the crew still remained absent, and, from past experience, Peter knew that with the next rising of the sun they would come stumbling back, drunk and reeling from a depraved night of debauchery. Peter would show no mercy, commanding them to immediately set sail on the tide. In the meantime, the ship’s Captain chose to get his own bit of rest. He lowered his bulk into the desk chair that he had pulled beside the tiny berth. It was far from comfortable, but it would have to do until he figured this new problem out. He slept fitfully, and not long after he had dozed off, he heard low murmuring beside him. Peter startled awake at the sound, then listened carefully to soft incoherent syllables being whispered. The language sounded melodious to his ear, so unlike the more harsh tones of Peter’s native tongue, but the meaning of the words was lost to him.

By the light from a taper, Peter filled a cup with some water from a flagon, and raising the boy’s head, lifted it to his lips. Apparently, some of the liquid made it past his throat, but the action brought on a labored bout of coughing and gagging. Peter quickly removed the cup, afraid that the water would find its way into a set of lungs rather than a stomach. If he had wanted to drown the boy, he could have just tossed him overboard into the sea. After the wheezing had subsided, all grew quiet once more. So Peter returned to his chair, and the next sound to interrupt his sleep was that of heavy footfalls and coarse oaths as the marauders climbed aboard the craft. It wasn’t long before there was a knock on his door.

“Enter,” Peter barked out.

The Sailing Master of Peter’s vessel stood framed in the doorway awaiting his Captain’s orders. When he spied the figure on the berth, he raised an impudent eyebrow and smirked. “It seems as if you decided to take a bit of booty for yourself, Captain. He’s very pretty and may make an enjoyable little plaything on the next leg of our voyage. The nights are chilly in some climes, and he could probably warm you up real good.”

“I don’t think I requested your opinion,” Peter said coldly. “What I am requesting is that you check the navigational charts and set a course for our homelands. This ridiculously protracted war can continue on without us.”

“Aye, Sir, as you wish,” the Sailing Master replied tersely as he turned on his heel.

“Just seconds later, another timid knock produced a small cabin boy with a fresh flagon of water and a trencher containing a round of bread and a wedge of cheese. Peter all but wrenched them from the child’s hand and slammed his door. Peter wasn’t sure why the first officer’s opinion had rankled him so much, but it had annoyed him beyond measure. Peter was a loyal husband and had never strayed from El’s side. When what you possessed was sublime, why would you go rutting around elsewhere? Besides, this figure on his bed was barely more than a child, probably not much older than Peter and El’s own son had been when they lost him to some mysterious plague that had seemed to spread like wildfire through the villages. El was a healer of sorts, a dedicated herbalist who concocted her own homeopathic remedies, but even her precious ingredients couldn’t snatch their child back from the jaws of death. No other pregnancies followed, and Peter had to make peace with the fact that his line would die out upon his own death.

Peter blew out a frustrated breath to regain his composure. He was a bit preoccupied so it took a few seconds before he glanced at his “albatross” and found the boy gazing at him with eyes that were lucid and hard. Peter advanced slowly and lowered himself onto the thin mattress. The blue stare never wavered as it followed his every step. The unblinking eyes looked defiant rather than fearful, and Peter was on guard for any sudden threatening movements.

Peter was a pragmatic person and decided to start with the rudiments of any new relationship. He placed the flat of his hand on his own chest and precisely intoned his name. “I am _Peter_ ,” he stressed. Then the flat of his hand found his captive’s chest and Peter raised his eyebrows in a question. The boy just continued to look surly and uttered nothing.

 _“Peter,”_ he repeated as his hand returned to his chest once more before reaching out to the boy’s torso. And yet again, he was met with mute defiance.

By the third attempt, Peter was losing his temper. “I know you can talk, boy, since you babbled in my ear most of the night. And unless you’re a complete idiot, you know exactly what I want to hear. So, cut the stony silence act and speak up. I am _Peter!_ ” he practically bellowed, “ _and your name is?”_

The boy narrowed his eyes and practically spat in Peter’s face as he finally answered, _“Neal!”_

“See, that wasn’t so hard,” Peter said smugly as he mulled over the strange-sounding name the boy had provided. “So, Neal, you’ll need to drink to keep yourself hydrated,” he advised as he held the cup once again to the youth’s lips. However, It didn’t seem that cooperation was a part of this foreigner’s vocabulary because he stubbornly turned his face away.

“Not thirsty, I take it,” Peter remarked in a tight tone. “Maybe a bit of something to eat may tempt you,” he added as he used his small dagger to cut a wedge from the bread.

Again, Peter was met with stubborn resistance and a glare. The older man was tired of being a patient nursemaid and he grabbed the boy by the chin and wrenched his head around as he roared, _“Eat, damn it!”_

This time the belligerent captive actually did spit in Peter’s face, and the surprised Captain reacted instinctively with a vicious backhand to the kid’s cheek that sent him sprawling halfway off the berth. That gave Neal an opportunity to grab the small dagger on the trencher containing the bread, and he quickly whirled around to face his tormentor brandishing that weapon. But Peter was just as quick. He captured the boy’s hand and held it in a tight grip. Then he slowly positioned the point of the dagger in front of his own broad chest.

“So, the little tiger has teeth,” he taunted. “You want to kill me, boy? Well, here’s your chance. Let’s see if you can do the deed, my angry young whelp!”

Peter’s hand remained tightly enclosed over Neal’s. He could feel the tension in the boy’s fingers, and if he detected the slightest movement, he intended to break every small bone in the slender wrist. The two adversaries were now face to face, just inches apart. Neal’s was breathing heavily while Peter’s coiled body was steady and alert. For what seemed like an eternity but really was just seconds, the two people remained locked in that weird embrace. Then, little by little, Peter felt the rigidity leach away from Neal’s fingers until his empty hand dropped into his lap and he looked down to again avoid Peter’s gaze.

“Smart choice, Neal,” Peter remarked calmly. “If you did manage to kill me, where exactly do you think you could run? We’re in the middle of a vast ocean. My crew would hunt you down, flay off your skin, and then tie you to the figurehead on the ship’s bow. Your body would slowly rot as small parts of you dropped into the waves.”

Neal, of course, was silent and not meeting Peter’s gaze. So, again the older man captured his jaw in a large hand and forced the boy’s attention back on him. “You need to understand your present situation. I am your master, and because you are my possession, you will do as I say without all this feeble rebelliousness. Of course, you don’t understand what I’m saying, so let me make comprehension a bit easier for you.”

After those ominous words, Peter jabbed a finger at the young man’s chest. “ _Neal_ belongs to _Peter_ ,” he finished with a flat hand to his own chest. Then Neal’s new master calmly arose and rummaged in a wooden foot locker until he had located some sturdy rope which he used to bind each of the prisoner’s hands to the sides of the berth. Without another word, Peter left his quarters.


	4. Chapter 4

It felt good to get out into the fresh air and away from the claustrophobic little cabin with all the hostility enclosed within its walls. Peter slowly walked the length and breadth of his vessel, inspecting and making certain that everyone was performing their duties and pulling their weight. He studied the navigational charts his second in command had spread out in the wheelhouse and nodded his head when he was told the journey home would take several months barring any problems with the sometimes inclement weather. Violent storms occurred frequently in these warm southern waters, and he and the crew had ridden out several in the past weeks.

By midday, Peter settled in for a meal in the galley where he conferred with the cook to make sure there were sufficient rations to sustain the crew for a time. As was normal, stops would be made at small islands along the way to acquire fresh, potable water as well as edible vegetation or meat from slaughtered indigenous animals. When he couldn’t procrastinate any longer, Peter returned to his quarters and his surly guest. When he flung open the door, his arms were encumbered with an unwieldly bundle that he dumped unceremoniously onto the floor. A small cabin boy had followed in his wake bearing another trencher of food that he quickly placed on the Captain’s desk before scurrying fearfully away.

Peter walked over to inspect the state of his captive, who peered up with an unfathomable gaze. The hovering man bent down to untie the ropes that bound the young man’s wrists. It proved a bit difficult because the knots were pulled tight thanks to Neal’s persistent struggles to free himself. Peter noted the encircling bands of excoriated flesh and shook his head.

“I admire your tenacity, my young friend, but a wise man knows when he is beaten and it is time to bow to a greater force.”

Of course, the boy didn’t respond and Peter sighed. “I really don’t want to break your spirit, Neal. I simply want to ….” Well, at this juncture, the older man really didn’t know what he wanted to do with this stubborn youth.

Peter sighed again and snatched a pair of britches and a shirt from the new pile of things he had collected. He jerked back the sheet covering Neal and threw the clothes at his head. “Put these on,” he commanded. “They’re probably going to be a bit big on you, but they belong to the skinniest mate I could find on this vessel.”

Peter stood ramrod straight and glared down at the naked boy, not quite sure what he would do if his order wasn’t obeyed. When Neal sat up slowly and picked up the shirt, Peter breathed a silent sigh of relief and retreated to his desk chair. Neal wobbled to his feet in a feeble attempt to don the pants, and it took him quite a few times to complete the task. Peter noted the ashen pallor and weak instability. Prolonged dehydration and hunger would do that to a human body.

After Neal had accomplished dressing himself, he sat back down on the bed. He watched from under lowered lids as Peter next dragged over the huge leather trunk and upended it near the berth to create a makeshift table. Next came the new trencher of food—more bread and cheese that Peter had prudently pre-sliced with his knife, some salt pork, and half of an orange. He also poured out a generous amount of a beverage into a cup from his own personal flagon.

“Eat!” Peter said forcefully with his hands on his hips. He hoped intimidation would forestall a replay of earlier events. Once again he was gratified to see the silent boy obey as he slowly picked up a piece of dense cheese. He chewed mechanically and gazed off into space, and Peter wondered what was going through his mind. “Probably plotting all the ways he would like to kill me in my sleep,” Peter ruminated silently. When Neal paused to take a deep draught from the cup, the silent tableau immediately changed. The boy’s eyes grew wide and he gasped out in shock before beginning to choke and sputter. The fit went on until tears were actually forming in his eyes. Peter was immediately at his side thumping his back until Neal could draw a normal breath.

“I guess your little island hadn’t yet figured out how to distill a good strong rum,” he said drolly. “Maybe tomorrow, I’ll fetch you some wine, instead. Until then, lets stick with water.”

After Neal had eaten as much as he was probably going to eat, Peter grabbed his arm and frog marched him out into the corridor and up to the open deck. He guided the young man over to the railing where, as was the custom on old sailing ships, Peter unbuttoned his own britches and urinated over the side. He then stared at his prisoner intently until Neal mimicked his actions. When that necessity was out of the way, a bit of silence ensued. Neal gazed around him at the vast empty ocean being caressed by the vibrant oranges and purples of the sunset, and a sense of forlorn melancholy overtook him. Peter was perceptive and noted the sadness settle over his prisoner like a shroud.

“You’re far away from the place you once called home, Neal. It’s okay to mourn what you have lost. You wouldn’t possess a soul if you didn’t. From now on, your life will be moving in a different direction and you’ll probably never have an opportunity to see your beloved island again. Maybe that’s a good thing because, after yesterday, I doubt there is much left of what is now your past.”

Eventually, a very mismatched pair of individuals returned to Peter’s cabin. Neal stood like a statue as Peter next raided the parcel he had brought earlier. The large bundle was actually rolled bedding that he laid onto the rough wooden planks at his feet. “I’m taking back my own bed, Neal. You’re younger with a more resilient body, so you get the hard floor instead of me with my aching and creaky joints. And just to make sure you don’t decide to go wandering, I think we’ll outfit you with a pair of these.” It was then that Peter picked up a heavy set of leg irons that he firmly attached to his captive’s ankles.

During the long hours of the night, Peter dreamed of a one-sided island battle that seemed cruel and ruthlessly unnecessary. It took much longer for Neal to fall asleep as he envisioned the same thing. Darius’ prophesy had told him that he would survive and must endure. Neal intended to do just that, at least until he could avenge Caden and kill the foreigners, starting with a man named Peter.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the following days that turned into weeks, a familiar pattern began to unfold. Peter and Neal would take their breakfast in the cabin and the silent boy would accompany his master on his rounds of the huge ocean vessel. The seamen would gawk and some would snicker, but Peter simply ignored their curious stares as did his little sidekick. The ship Captain was determined to make the walk-abouts a time of learning for his young foreigner, pointing out things and giving them a name so that perhaps someday they could actually communicate.

“That’s the bow of the ship,” Peter would enunciate clearly as he used a finger to point. “That’s a mast, and that’s the rigging and crow’s nest,” he added. Then the vocabulary expanded to include smaller objects like rope, barrel, cannon, and gangplank. While tucked in their tight quarters at night, Peter would hold up a cup, a book, a piece of parchment, a quill pen, or a candle taper and give it a name. Neal listened but still refused to cooperate.

Actually, Neal was not completely ignorant of this strange dialect. During his extensive early education, Darius had noted that his pupil had an ear for languages. Thus, part of the intense schooling included introducing Neal to old historical annuls detailing ancient visits to their island by other strange peoples. The words of the travelers had been painstakingly recorded phonetically in the old parchments, and Neal had practiced saying the clipped guttural words with their wealth of hard consonants. The language that Peter spoke was very similar, at least alike enough for Neal to get the gist. The boy was a quick study, and he was soaking up the new vernacular like a sponge. The quiet listener was perfecting his fluency in his mind. That was a fact that he kept to himself. Neal now owned nothing except a secret that was his and his alone.

One morning, Peter showed Neal an, as yet, unvisited part of the frigate. Down in the hold, Neal beheld one of those large, finely muscled creatures for which he had no name. The animal was tethered along with many others in small enclosures, and all of them turned their heads in the direction of the newcomers. Peter immediately approached the tallest black one and raised a hand to stroke its long, sleek neck. “This is a _horse_ , Neal, my horse,” Peter explained to a suddenly nervous young man. Neal stood back at a fair distance as he watched the ebony mountain toss its head and stamp its heavy feet. The wooden planks seemed to shudder under the impatient stomping.

“Come closer, Neal,” Peter said as he waved a beckoning gesture. “Put your hand on his shoulder and feel those strong muscles ripple under your fingers.”

Neal approached hesitantly, and reached out a tentative hand as the horse’s wary brown eyes followed his slow progress. Just as Neal’s fingers connected with the warm flesh, the horse snorted loudly and reared up. Neal startled and backpedaled quickly, deciding that making new friends with gigantic beasts didn’t sound like such a great idea.

Peter actually laughed causing Neal to feel mortified. “He just needs to get used to you, boy. It will get better in time, just like we seem to be getting better with time.”

If Neal had been able to mimic the sound from the formidable animal, he would have snorted, too, at Peter’s cavalier assumption. Neal was still biding his time for retribution.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the coming months, the ship made two stops on the journey. One was a small verdant island with an aboriginal people who didn’t seem to have progressed beyond the hunter-gatherer stage of human evolution. They scattered like a flock of frightened birds and disappeared when the seamen came ashore. For the greater part of a day, the sailors hunted wild boars, lynxes, and monkeys and roasted them in pits before bringing the new sources of meat aboard the ship.

The second stop several weeks later was an uninhabited coral atoll with fresh streams plunging over impressively tall waterfalls. Barrels were rolled ashore to replenish the necessary, life-saving supply of potable liquid that would ensure survival in the days ahead. Peter always took Neal ashore with him when they made landfall, and usually the boy stuck close. However, perhaps the ship captain had become too complacent in recent days because of Neal’s outward placidness. They had seemed to have reached a less hostile and more compatible juncture in their relationship, and Peter had even decided to forego the leg irons at night. Neal was well aware that there was nowhere to escape on Peter’s frigate. But that was not true on this particular island.

When Peter noted that Neal had vanished in the blink of an eye, he called out at first in an insistent commanding tone of voice. When that brought no results, Peter hastily formed small parties of his crew to go in search of the wayward prisoner. Peter strode off alone swearing under his breath. He plodded through vegetation that sometimes reached his waist, and alternated watching where he put each booted foot and looking up among the swaying fronds of the trees above him. His dedicated search took him higher and higher up a small mountain until he finally reached the crest. Now Peter was afforded a panoramic view that included the sandy beach ringing the island as well as several serene lagoons dotting the lower landscape. A flash of white caught his attention, and he quickly unfurled the spyglass that he had tucked in his belt. It was then that he saw Neal shedding his clothing as he stood on a ledge above a quiet pool of water. Like a sleek beautiful mythological selkie, he dove deep into the lagoon, and Peter held his breath until he saw the boy’s head eventually split the surface again. Peter experienced a feeling of immense relief that was quickly overshadowed by a sudden desire to throttle the boy until his teeth rattled.

Peter swore to himself during the entire descent, and it was only when he heard the shouts and the crass laughter that he hurried his steps. As he stepped from the dense forest, Peter was dumbstruck by what he witnessed. He saw Neal naked on the ground being pinned down by two leering and burly sailors from the ship. The young man was kicking and punching as he lashed out at his tormentors, who were laughing and urging the third member of their group to “fuck ‘im hard.” That person had his pants around his ankles and his prick was rigid and straining. Peter immediately stepped into the clearing with his sword drawn. “Which one of you disgusting men would like his manhood sliced off first?”

Everyone froze except for Neal who quickly righted himself and launched his body at the closest aggressor. Peter let the one-on-one melee continue for a few minutes as he cautiously circled the tight little bunch of would-be rapists. He made a quick motion with his hand, and two wide-eyed men quickly scurried away. When Neal seemed to have worn himself out pummeling his assailant, Peter picked up the third seamen by the scruff of his neck and kicked his ass in the direction of the beach. When they were alone, he took Neal’s face in his hands and studied the bruises and cuts before sighing deeply.

“Put your clothes back on, Neal, so that we can return to the ship. That’s enough dangerous adventure for today.”

That night at the stroke of eight bells, three disgraced sailors were tethered to the tall spar, and each felt a multitude of lashes from Peter’s cat-o-nine tails. He flayed their backs open as they keened in agony and solemn crewmen looked on. A message had to be sent. _Nobody_ touched Peter’s personal property.

When the men were finally released and dragged away by their comrades, Peter took Neal’s arm and they walked to the stern of the boat. Peter didn’t look at the boy. Instead he studied the long ribbon of the ship’s wake as he spoke. “Neal, you could have been killed today. The sailors on this ship are crude, uncouth depraved louts. They haven’t lain with a woman in months. They would have fucked you over and over until they couldn’t get their dicks up anymore. Then, most likely, they would have slit your throat and hidden your body away so I could never find you. I want to protect you. I don’t want you to die.”

In a darkness only illuminated by a halfmoon, Peter was thunderstruck as Neal spoke his first words since his captivity had begun. A clear voice spoke in Peter’s native tongue, “I am not destined to die yet. It is my curse that I must endure.”


	5. Chapter 5

Now that an astonished Peter had become aware that Neal not only understood his language, he could also speak it quite eloquently, he tried initiating conversations during their evenings together in the tiny cabin. The discussions never took place because the insolent boy kept silent.

“Fine!” a frustrated Peter shouted one night. “Keep your counsel and pretend that you’re deaf and dumb. I had enjoyed my own company for months on end before you arrived on the scene, and during that time I was quite content in my quiet solitude.”

Neal simply looked at his captor blandly while Peter swore under his breath about impudent and stubborn mongrel pups with no respect for authority. One evening, Peter worked long into the night laboring over his ship’s log. He was diligently making a practice copy of what he wanted to eventually record, and there were many ink blots and words crossed out during the dry run. Finally, he gave up the agonizing task and looked at Neal with a speculative stare.

“Can you read and write, Neal?”

The boy was reclining on his pallet on the floor and didn’t even deign to look up. That made Peter start to fume and he repeated the question in a decibel range that could probably be heard in the crow’s nest. _“I asked if you could read and write, you little bastard. You will give me an answer right now or you may not like the consequences!”_

Neal didn’t seemed too frightened. He merely looked up with a casual glance and nodded his head.

“How about numbers?” was the next question. “Can you add columns of figures and subtract two sums?” Peter demanded to know.

This time Neal actually rolled his eyes and Peter was quick to take note of the impudent gesture. The angry ship Captain was up out of his seat in a second, using swear words that Neal had not yet added to his vocabulary, although the meaning was fairly obvious. Peter pulled the surprised boy up by the front of his thin shirt and shook him like a rag doll.

“When I ask a question, you will answer me,” Peter spat out in a menacing voice. “There will be no nodding or shaking of your fuckin’ head like some mare in my stables. You will speak to me in a deferential tone of voice and do it willingly. Now, tell me what I want to know. _Can you do basic arithmetic!?”_

“Yes,” was the short answer.

“Now we’re on the same page!” Peter rumbled. “So, get your scrawny ass up to that desk and check my figures for the payroll manifest of the crew. We’ll soon be arriving in port and I need to know how many coins to dole out. I’ll show you examples of the different values of the currencies so you know what they look like. Tonight you can start by scanning the ledger that denotes each man’s position and what his daily pay scale is.”

“Am I going to incur your irrational wrath if I find that you’ve made a mathematical error?” Neal asked sarcastically.

“No, what you’re going to do is fix it!” Peter replied hotly.

“Yes, _Master_ ,” Neal replied in an obviously mocking tone that made Peter grit his teeth. Why did everything always have to be a battle of wills with this one?

~~~~~~~~~~

Over the preceding weeks, the air had turned progressively colder, and when Neal gazed out at the ocean each day it was no longer an alluring turquoise. Now the churning waves were a dark cobalt blue. The young man’s wardrobe had changed as well. Peter had appropriated some woolen leggings and boots for him as well as a scratchy outer coat that could be buttoned up to Neal’s chin. One morning, Neal could see little clouds of smoke lazily unfurl from his nostrils and mouth when he breathed. He was shivering at the rail on the port side of the vessel when he felt someone’s presence by his side. Neal didn’t need to turn his head because he seemed to have a second sense when Peter was near. Maybe that was the result of his psyche’s innate self-preservation instinct, or perhaps it was the outcome of living with the man for so long that Neal’s body seemed to be able to home in on his captor’s energy.  

“See those shapes far off in the distance?” Peter remarked. “Those are the magnificent mountains of my homeland.”

When Neal just squinted and said nothing, Peter tapped him on the shoulder with his spyglass. Neal took it grudgingly and peered through its magnifying lens. What he saw were tall craggy precipices that looked darkly formidable and harshly daunting. He couldn’t even see the tops of some because their gargantuan peaks had pierced the clouds, while the ones that he could visualize wore some sort of white mantle at their summits.

“I guess everything here looks quite different than on your island,” Peter said softly. “You’re going to have to acclimate to a whole new world, Neal—my world, and perhaps one day you will find it to be as beautiful as I do.”

Neal wasn’t so sure he agreed. Of course, it would take time for him to familiarize himself with what he could only consider to be his new prison, but he would never view it as his home. Home had been warmth and light and Caden. But his island and his lover were becoming hazier as the long days at sea had slowly progressed. While lying on his pallet beside his captor, it was becoming harder and harder for Neal to see Caden’s face in sharp clarity. That was distressing for him because he knew the light of his past was dimming and would soon wink out as if it had never been. He was slowly losing parts of himself as well as those whom he had cherished.

So, on many, many nights when his vision wasn’t clear, Neal willed himself to settle for feeling his lover’s warmth and his familiar hands that had roamed Neal’s body, teasing and tantalizing. Of course, that brought on the expected response. The homesick boy’s body would react and his penis would fill in longing, and on those lonely nights he cursed his fate. On other nights, Neal longed for a prophetic dream that would show him images of this ship breaking into parts in the midst of some maelstrom and ultimately plunging beneath the waves taking every last soul to the deep depths beyond. Unfortunately, that never happened in his reveries. Neal had desperately wanted to die beside Caden, but he would gladly settle for a watery grave. He had never desired to survive and be forced to endure.

~~~~~~~~~~

As the days slid by, so did the foreign landscape. Neal saw occasional thatched cottages and stacked brown haystacks in fields with herds of black cattle and white wooly sheep. The human figures in the distant tableau looked tiny and insubstantial when he would spot them placidly toiling at some task. Sometimes he even saw individuals leading one of those great beasts that he had come to know as horses as they pulled small carts behind them. At night, the observant boy would catch the smell of a peat-burning hearth or hear a strange distant howl in the darkness. Peter had told him that was the call of a wolf and explained it was a dog-like hunter. Neal wondered how many other predators roamed this foreign country surrounded by tall green trees with sharp, spikey needles rather than gracefully swaying fronds.

Little by little, the countryside gave way to a busier scene that was much more crowded with inhabitants. Peter explained to his companion that the ship would reach home port the next morning and tie up at a wharf in the city. “While the unlading is taking place, I’ll be seated at the top of the gangway giving each seaman what he is due for his service. I want you standing right behind me, Neal, as I mete out the compensation. Watch my hands carefully, and if I inadvertently make a mistake, place your fingers discretely on my shoulder and that will be the signal for me to recount the coins. You won’t be required to say a word, so that shouldn’t be a hardship for you.”

Neal was tempted to roll his eyes at the sarcastic comment, but then thought better of it as he recalled the last time he had exhibited that behavior. Neither did he voice his opinion that his captor seemed to be an uneducated oaf. Nonetheless, the secret plan went off without a hitch with Peter accurately dispensing each man’s money as they stood before him. It took the greater part of almost two hours, and the last stragglers in the queue turned out to be the three men whom Peter had flogged as punishment for Neal’s attempted rape. Their attitude bordered on surliness as they grabbed their wages and sauntered away, but not before intentionally bumping Neal’s shoulder and favoring him with a malicious glare. Peter never noticed that action and Neal certainly didn’t make him aware of the rough jostling. What would be the point?

The afternoon came and Peter made certain that all of his belongings were securely stowed in his huge leather trunk that was to be carted dockside. He then looked steadily at Neal and placed both hands on the boy’s upper arms. “When we disembark, Neal, stay close by my side. The city is a rough area with every possible danger imaginable. Men, or even women, may accost you to try to entice you into dark alleyways. That’s so their vile accomplices can slice your throat if they think you have a coin on you.”

“This place is actually what you claim is your beautiful homeland?” Neal asked cynically.

Peter sighed. “This town is but a gateway that we must pass through before we reach my actual properties, Neal. My rural holdings are nothing like this disgusting mass of humanity with all its ugliness and depravity. We will have to travel overland for a whole day before we come to my estate.”

Neal shrugged indifferently and said not another word as he followed directly behind Peter when they made their way down the gangplank. The first thing that assailed the boy was the boisterous noise of people shouting, quarreling, and raucously hawking their wares. Apparently, garishly painted women appeared to be advertising the sale of other things as well. The second aspect of this city that greeted Neal was the horrendous smell of unwashed bodies and the unpleasant odor of human wastes. The excrement was readily apparent as it seeped along disgusting gutters that framed uneven cobblestones. It seemed that people spat, urinated, and even defecated with no thought of hygiene, and Neal had to swallow down bile that threatened to gag him.

Peter seemed unaffected, and Neal hurried to catch up with him as he saw his captor zeroing in on a tall figure supervising the disembarkation of the many horses from the ship’s hold. After having been cooped up for weeks, the animals were agitated and eager to run free. It seemed like an arduous task to get them all tethered together into some kind of order, and this new figure seemed to be supervising the many men around him who were determined to get the job done.

“Keenan!” Peter called out a greeting while raising an arm. Suddenly, a giant of a human being was striding toward the ship Captain with outstretched arms that seemed to swallow Peter in a suffocating bear hug. This intimidating individual was a full head taller than Peter with very broad shoulders and large thick hands. He had a full bushy beard and a long unruly mane of hair a curious color of burnished copper. To Neal, he looked like some ogre from an ancient civilization’s folklore, and the wary young man peered closely to see if he may have had a third eye located in the vicinity of his forehead.

“You are a sight for sore eyes, Peter,” the monster boomed as he continued to thump Peter on the back. “We got word from the lighthouse that your ship had entered the channel, so I immediately set out with a few hearty lads to await your docking. Everyone has missed you, my good friend, but perhaps no one as much as Elizabeth.”

“How is my beloved wife?” Peter immediately asked.

“Her usual bossy self,” the man called Keenan said with a smile. “She kept us all in line with an iron hand for the last year, and no one in their right mind dared disobey her. She’s a fierce one, all right, and we were all shakin’ in our boots day after day.”

Peter laughed. “I have found the best way to handle the situation is to defer to my wife’s wishes. It’s a defensive strategy that seems to keep harmony under my roof.”

Neal took all this information in. If Peter and the gargantuan giant beside him feared Peter’s wife, surely she must be some horrible force of nature. His captor had displayed valor and fearlessness on the battlefield, so exactly what kind of dark creature shared his bed? Neal knew he would eventually find out, and that made him a bit uneasy. It was better to abide the enemy you knew instead of being apprehensive about the unknown one looming on the horizon.

Suddenly, Keenan seemed to notice the thin, dark-haired boy standing behind Peter. “So, what have you got there, Peter?” he asked as he cocked his head and gave Neal a penetrating stare.

Neal’s captor suddenly looked uncomfortable. “Um, that’s Neal. He’s … well, he’s just something that I may have acquired when our fleet visited a southern island.”

“Acquired,” Keenan mused thoughtfully as he rolled the word off his tongue before adding with a smirk, “Do you mean like a trinket or a souvenir?”

Peter grimaced and looked embarrassed. “I guess what I mean is, I may have acted rashly on a stupid whim, and then I suddenly found myself saddled with a real pain in my ass.”

Neal had narrowed his eyes and was glaring at Peter after he heard himself described in that deprecating manor. Keenan took note of the angry expression and said quite innocently, “I would venture a guess that he understands our language.”

“Oh, Neal understands quite a lot that he doesn’t share,” Peter admitted sarcastically. “The little disrespectful mutt hides behind a wall of silence just to piss me off!”

“Is that so?” Keenan replied drolly. “Well, if you’re dragging his carcass home, Elizabeth will straighten him out in short order,” Peter’s friend predicted.

“From your mouth to God’s ears,” Peter replied. “Now, have you got all the horses sorted out? I’d like to start for home with them as soon as possible.”

“Your black has already been saddled and is just as eager to be off as you are,” came the reply, making Neal realize that Peter actually owned all the horses that had been taken on the campaign. Maybe being a ship’s Captain wasn’t his only occupation. This was getting to be a strange puzzle that Neal would have to figure out as time went on. The young man was abruptly pulled from his contemplation when Keenan returned with the reins of Peter’s stallion in one hand and the bridle of a large chestnut gelding in the other. Both animals had leather saddles on their broad backs and were snorting and pawing the ground. With practiced ease, Peter threw one of his long legs across the black’s middle and gazed down at Neal expectantly.

“Get on the other horse, Neal,” he said impatiently.

Neal looked at the tall muscular animal that was avidly prancing, and when he tried to approach it, the mighty thing reared up on its hind legs, perhaps made bold by somehow sensing Neal’s nervousness and inexperience. Animals could smell fear in humans, and Neal had to admit this new riding thing was making him sweat through his clothes.

“Just grab onto his mane and boost yourself up,” Peter urged. “Horses need to know who’s in charge or they’ll take advantage of the situation. You have to make him aware of who his master is this afternoon!”

Against his better judgment, Neal felt himself backing away and shaking his head. There was just no way he was going to risk life and limb atop some obnoxious quivering mound of raw muscle. There were more dignified ways to die.

Peter shook his head in disgust, wheeled his dancing mount around and extended a hand down to Neal. When each man’s hand had encircled the other’s wrist, Neal felt himself being yanked into the air before settling behind Peter.

“Put your arms around my waist and hang on,” Peter advised, and suddenly they were flying down a dirt road that led the way out of the god-forsaken filthy town.


	6. Chapter 6

A long procession of men and horses traveled for hours as they traversed the open countryside and occasionally meandered through dense primordial forests that almost shut out the sun. By early evening, they set up camp near a wide, gurgling river and hobbled the now weary horses nearby. The men waded into the stream with pointy spears and returned with large silver fish who’s meat tuned orange and succulent over the campfire. Most of the group retired early as they disappeared inside makeshift lean-tos. Peter and Keenan sat up late into the night discussing crops, animal herds, and, of course, horses. Neal sat close by taking in every word. The gist seemed to be that Peter was a landowner with a vast estate. He made profits from the sale of wheat, barley, beef, and mutton. However, the real wealth was acquired from the sale of impressive thoroughbred horses and the collection of stud fees that well-off people from other nearby lands were willing to pay. Neal wondered why Peter had been enticed to go off to war. Perhaps he was not given a choice. Being a soldier of fortune didn’t seem plausible, but Neal couldn’t fathom that out because he remained ignorant of the mores of a foreign government and its dictates. Maybe Peter had a master, too, and that was an interesting thought.

By the next afternoon, the little party was approaching a sprawling stone house flanked by other small cottages and an enormous stable almost as large as the human domicile. Neal found himself getting a bit apprehensive because, more than likely, he was about to meet some huge Valkyrie of a woman. According to Keenan, this mysterious figure held within her hands the power to grant life or death. So, if that red-headed giant was intimidated, then Neal should be very cautious and on guard.

Peter slid from his horse in the courtyard and dragged Neal down to stand by his side. He tugged on the boy’s arm as he made his way to a large oak door and barged into a huge open room with a massive fireplace. Neal was startled and cringed when the mighty lord of the manor managed to bellow in a booming voice, _“El, where are you?”_

Apparently, Neal’s ear drums were still intact because, all at once, he heard a rustling off to the side. Instinctively, the wary young man moved closer to his captor and inhaled a fortifying breath, not knowing what nature of monster would come stomping into the room. What the boy next beheld seconds later made his eyes widen and his mouth gape open as Peter’s wife glided into view. Elizabeth was tall and shapely with long dark hair that trailed down her back and ended in tendrils that framed her perfect oval face. Her eyes were the most beautiful shade of caerulean blue, and her lips, naturally rosy, were actually forming a smile that seemed to light up the room.

“Peter,” she whispered like a prayer and all but ran to throw herself into her husband’s arms.

The married couple stayed in that loving embrace until the woman named El noticed a silent and perplexed youth standing off to the side and staring. “Well, who have you brought home with you, Peter?” she asked in a soft voice as she turned both her attention and her smile on the boy. “Please make the introductions so that I can greet our guest properly.”

Peter took a deep breath and bit his lip, “That’s Neal,” he began an abbreviated explanation. “I wouldn’t call him a guest, at least not formally,” Peter waffled. “I, um, met him when we, um … when he landed on a very isolated island. It didn’t appear that he had anywhere to go, so I took him with me.”

“I think there may be more to this story, Peter,” El said slowly, reading her husband like a book. “Perhaps you can enlighten me further after dinner. You and Neal must be famished, so let me just say, ‘Welcome to our home, young man.’ Now, the pair of you needs to wash the grime off your hands from your long journey before you take your seats at the table.”

Peter was astonished when he saw Neal give a slight bow and begin a beguiling little speech. “You are most gracious and kind, my lady, to offer your hospitality to an unkempt wretch like me. I am quite honored, and nothing would give me more pleasure than to partake of a brief interlude in your company. Just let me offer my very sincere appreciation post-haste.”

“Well, aren’t you the charming one?” El gushed. “Handsome and mannerly are a delightful combination to discover in one so young.”

Before Elizabeth could utter another word, she saw her husband reach out a rough hand and grasp Neal’s collar. With a determined stride he was dragging the polite boy off to the kitchen for cleanup. “What’s your game, Neal?” Peter demanded to know when they were out of earshot. “Are you just trying to be clever so that you can annoy me? You haven’t strung more than a half dozen words together in the last several months, and now you’re flapping your jaws and spouting rubbish like some foppish poet!”

Neal shrugged innocently. “I respond in kind to the person who is addressing me. Your wife didn’t bark at me like an angry, snarling mastiff or treat me like I was dirt under her feet. She didn’t speak to me like I was her slave, so, I answered her in a dignified manner.”

Peter narrowed his eyes. “Watch your step, boy, or you _will_ be feeling my angry, snarling breath on your scrawny neck.”

Of course, being willfully perverse, Neal did not heed Peter’s warning. During dinner, he avidly discussed arcane subjects with El centered around botany and the healing properties that could be found in nature. “It would seem that you have many indigenous plants here that were lacking in the place where I spent my life,” Neal said pensively.

Elizabeth was intrigued. “Please, Neal, tell me about your homeland. Peter mentioned that it was a far-off island?”

“Yes, many sea miles away in the south,” Neal answered slowly.

“Was it a beautiful place?” El asked innocently.

“Yes, it was,” Neal responded, very carefully using the past tense.

“Why did you want to leave it?” El wanted to know.

Neal was quiet for a few beats as he tried to form his answer. “Sometimes, you must accept what fate has planned for you. Perhaps there are really no choices in life. Instead there is only destiny, and you are helpless to change the course of your journey.”

“That’s sounds very poignant, and perhaps a bit sad.” El replied gently. “Maybe one day, you’ll be willing to explain how you have come to that almost melancholy assumption.”

“Perhaps,” Neal smiled in reply. He could almost sense Peter’s glowering stare, but being annoyingly audacious felt really good.

~~~~~~~~~~

People in this country rose with the dawn, so they sought out their beds early in the evening. Peter was eagerly anticipating lying between his wife’s thighs and partaking of the pleasures of the flesh that he had missed for over a year. If anyone had asked Peter why men waged ridiculously prolonged wars away from their homes, Peter would venture a guess that their wives were shrews. He had missed his soulmate so much, it was more than a physical ache.

After their arduous lovemaking, Elizabeth wanted to know more about the young man who was bedded down in a spare room off of the pantry. Peter could never lie to his wife, so he was forthcoming and brutally honest.

Elizabeth was aghast. “Are you saying that a naval fleet just came ashore and slaughtered everyone on his island like they were fattened cattle? That’s genocide, Peter, not war. I don’t understand how you could have been part of a terrible act like that.”

“El, I was just one vessel in a vast armada tasked with obtaining submission from all lands to the south. The current person on the throne considers that to be a mandate to ensure his supremacy over the civilized world. He calls it manifest destiny.”

“Well, I would call it being a vicious, callous, homicidal despot,” El snorted. “In the king’s name, you and your cronies killed everyone defending their little bit of paradise except Neal. Instead, you decided that it was a good idea to take him far away from all his loved ones.”

“El, after the battle and the sacking and burning, there wasn’t anything or anyone left,” Peter said quietly. “I couldn’t kill him, and I couldn’t leave him to die alone.”

“Maybe dying on familiar ground alongside his comrades may have been the kinder thing,” his wife mused. “I can’t imagine he can survive or even be happy here so far away from everything he’s ever known. It must be a cruel existence for him, and I suspect, deep down, he resents you.”

Peter smiled sourly. “I think, deep down, he’d like to bury a knife in my chest.”

“Is that really true?” El answered fearfully.

“Well, our relationship has taken on a rather adversarial tone, I’m afraid,” Peter admitted. “I think Neal is under the impression that I have enslaved him.”

“Peter, we have never owned slaves. There are only freemen living on our lands,” El answered sharply. “Neal should be made aware of that fact. People who consider themselves to be slaves eventually rebel and they flee, and if Neal did run, you doesn’t have the wherewithal or the resources to survive in a foreign land.”

“Neal is sly and clever,” Peter said with a nod of his head. “I don’t doubt he will try something after he acclimates himself in his new surroundings and can formulate a workable plan. Until then, we will have to be on guard at all times with him.”

“Do you really think he’s that sinister and dangerous, Peter?” El wanted to know.

“To tell you the truth, Neal remains a mystery to me,” Peter confessed. “I’m not quite sure to what lengths he will go if he decides it’s revenge that he desires. Maybe we should keep him at a distance for now. I could have him stay down near the stables with Keenan. That mean old cuss can keep him in line. Besides, the boy is frightened of horses, so mastering his fear should keep him busy.”

“Maybe that will work,” El said thoughtfully, “but I’d still like to get to know him better.”

“Well, at least he talks to _you_ ,” Peter said morosely, “so you’ve got a leg up on me. The little monster likes to give me the silent treatment.”

“Maybe you’ve earned his hostility,” El answered wryly.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next day Peter marched Neal down to the stables where he relinquished his charge to the care of the big red-haired stablemaster. “You will listen to Keenan and you will learn,” Peter commanded. “You’re not much use to me if you can’t even get yourself up on a horse.”

When Neal just glared and didn’t respond, Peter turned to his friend. “See if you can make something out of this useless lump of clay. I’ll leave it to you to abide his surliness.” With that being said, Peter spun on his heel and headed back to the main house.

Keenan chuckled. “C’mon, boy, let me show you around your new home. This is the stable housing thirty of the finest pieces of horseflesh on this side of the world. I noticed that you seemed a mite skittish around these marvelous creatures. Did you never see one where you came from?”

Neal simply shook his head.

“Well, how did you manage to get from place to place in your country?” the big man asked in puzzlement.

Neal shrugged innocently. “The inhabitants of my country were but poor ignorant and primitive people. We were forced to use a rather archaic and rudimentary form of locomotion when we desired to move from one place to another. We used our feet,” he ended sarcastically.

Instead of provoking the intimidating man with ginger hair, Neal’s deadpan declaration only seemed to amuse him because he was suddenly laughing out loud. “That’s a good one, boy! You’ve got spunk and I like spunk in a person. I believe we’re going to get along just fine.”

Next Keenan showed Neal the tack room and an adjacent alcove that held a couple of beds and a dresser. “We’ll be bunking in here together. It’s nice and cozy in the gentle months, but a bit chilly in the winter. Miss Elizabeth has brought us some extra down comforters and she also managed to scrounge up a few more clothes for you from amongst the villagers with boys your size. I think you’ll be fine. Last thing on the tour is the privy outback and I believe that’s the extent of our little fiefdom. Now, we just have to make one stop at the blacksmith’s forge before your education begins,” Keenan said cheerfully.

Neal was curious until he found out the reason for the visit. The big burly and sweating smithy had fashioned a copper bracelet for the young boy engraved with a sort of coat of arms. “That’s Peter’s crest, and he wants that securely attached to your wrist in the event that you manage to get yourself lost,” Keenan explained with a straight face. “When anybody in these parts sees the mark, they’ll be able to direct you home. Now, to keep it from accidently slipping off, Raymond is going to solder it in place.”

Later that night, Peter paid Keenan a visit as he was bedding down the horses. “Is it done?” he asked.

“Yes, just as you ordered,” Keenan replied. “The only way he can get it off is if he takes a sword and lops off his own hand.”

“How did he take it?” Peter asked cautiously.

“How do you think?” Keenan replied. “Maybe it’s best if you bolted your bedroom door tonight, my friend!”


	7. Chapter 7

Neal’s equine education began early the following morning. Keenan instructed him in the proper way of mucking out the stalls as he and two other men removed each four-footed denizen and took them out into the sun. Eventually, all but one of the horses were gathered together, and the men herded them off to the adjacent pasture where they were turned loose to freely gallop and graze at will.

When Keenan returned, he removed the last horse, a well-toned sorrel mare with a heavy girth around her middle section. He tethered her in the yard and called Neal to come near. Then the new teacher handed Neal a curry comb and brush. “Start polishing her up,” Keenan said jovially. “She’s pretty placid right now because she's heavy with foal. We’ll keep her close until her time comes. We wouldn’t want her to hurt herself or her offspring while she’d be running free in the meadow. She’s got the black’s progeny inside her belly, so what’s she’s carrying is really valuable.”

“Do horses routinely birth their offspring during the cold months?” Neal asked. “It would seem more likely that the new, fragile creatures would succumb under those conditions.”

“Horses normally drop their foals from January to May, but sometimes a few make an appearance before the end of the year. This one might come out in December. We’ll have to watch this mare closely and be nearby when it all gets started.”

“Do you think the baby will survive?” Neal asked curiously.

“Nature has a way of weeding out the weak of the species, so if the foal makes it into our world, then you can bet it will be a strong one. It’s a natural instinct to want to survive.”

Neal wasn’t sure that he agreed with that blanket statement, but he didn’t share that thought. Instead he reluctantly moved closer holding his implements tightly. The mare gave him a suspicious glance and sidled sideways.

“Get to know her before you start working on her,” Keenan advised. “If you met a stranger, would it be right for you to just start touching them? Of course not. People claim horses are just dumb animals, but I take exception to that. These creatures are intelligent and sensitive. You really never ‘break’ a horse during training. No sir, what you do is gain their trust and build a bond. If you can manage that, they’ll never let you down and you’ll always have their loyalty.”

Neither Keenan nor Neal had realized that Peter had crept into the barn. He had intended to meet with Neal this morning to again stress the ground rules about being obedient and subservient to Keenan. As he stood hidden by the stable door, he listened to the stable master’s wise words and turned them over and over in his mind. Perhaps there was a metaphor hiding within the advice. Neal was a skittish wild creature who needed to be tamed. Peter’s methods, thus far, were unsuccessful in building any bond of trust. Peter knew he was to blame, but he didn’t have a clue how to fix things. At that moment, Peter decided to back off and give the boy some space. Maybe seeing less of Peter would go a long way with Neal because confrontation sure wasn’t cutting it.

As Peter slunk away unnoticed, Keenan continued with his suggestions. “Let her get the smell of you, and let the little mama feel your hands on her face,” he advised. “Hands can convey more than just touch. A sensitive creature can feel strength, affection, and even compassion as you stroke them. Some might even claim that certain people possess what they term a ‘healing’ touch. I can’t say if that’s just a whimsy. Perhaps you may want to have a discussion with Peter’s wife about that since she’s a healer.”

Neal listened and moved around to the front of the beast to raise a tentative hand to her large head. He grew a bit more certain when she simply nuzzled him curiously. Eventually, he let his hand roam down her sleek neck and felt the warm skin ripple under his touch.  

“There you go,” Keenan said quietly. “She’s taking your measure and doesn’t feel threatened. That’s the first step in building a good rapport.”

Eventually, Neal used the curry brush to start stroking down the mare’s side, so Keenan again spoke up. “You know, boy, Peter is a good man. He’s a kind and fair person with integrity. You might want to keep that in mind.”

“Peter is also a murderer,” Neal said evenly without making eye contact.

The older man sighed. “He was a soldier in a war not of his choosing, but like all men of honor, he was loyal to his king and carried out the monarch’s commands.”

“Apparently, he was blind, as well,” Neal answered. “He wasn’t fighting an enemy. Our islanders were peaceful and would have welcomed the invaders. They never got that chance. They were methodically slain like lambs, so how moral could that be?”

Keenan suddenly didn’t know how to continue the conversation, but he did make a feeble attempt. “Although you probably won’t want to believe it, Peter does value you in his own gruff way.”

Now Neal was actually glowering at the stable master and, suddenly, he was holding up his wrist with the copper bracelet. “I was just a convenient spoil of war that he ‘acquired,’ and now I’m nothing more than a possession to him, no different from any of these other ‘dumb’ creatures living in this stable!”

“Make peace with your demons, Neal, or else they will devour you from the inside until you’re just a shell of a human being,” were Keenan’s wise words. He got no response from the angry boy, and Keenan would not be relating that conversation to Peter when he gave his daily report.

~~~~~~~~~~

Neal was aware of the fire in his belly to avenge not only Caden, but a civilization that probably had ceased to exist. However, the boy wasn’t sure that he was capable of wantonly taking another life in a quest for justice. Maybe Peter had thought he had saved Neal, but, instead, he had trapped him in a sort of limbo. Neal couldn’t go back and he couldn’t move forward, so he felt doomed to live out the rest of his days in this cold, stark world. It was a brutal environment that lacked the splendor of the southern islands that spoke to your senses. In Utopia, you could feel the sun’s warmth on your naked skin, hear the colorful birds in the trees and the gentle rushing of caressing waves, and you could see all the splendorous colors of flowers and trees nestled everywhere that you looked. This current place was hard rocky ground, harsh winds, and cold flakes of ice that fell from the sky and blanketed the land in a white shroud.

Darius, Neal’s old tutor, had once laid out a large parchment on a table for his pupil to study. “This is a representation of the world as we now know it,” the old man intoned. “These large bits of land located at the top are recorded in the ancient logs as being quite dissimilar from our homeland down below the middle of the map. Those faraway people are all part of mankind even though they have diverse distinguishing features and communicate with a foreign tongue.”

In his bed at night, Neal would try to visualize that ancient map, and he suspected where he had ultimately wound up. It was far away from the warm south, many blue oceans away, and Neal knew that, realistically, he could never reach Utopia on his own. The young man realized that he was now a man who had lost his true identity, that empty shell that Keenan had alluded to in his admonition. Unfortunately, Neal also suspected that, deep down, maybe he no longer had a desire to fill the void within himself.

~~~~~~~~~~

As the days passed, Neal grew more confident around the horses. They tolerated his touch and obeyed his wishes until, one day, he was finally brave enough to mount one’s broad back and take off at a gallop. Keenan was excited to relate that feat to a pleased and proud Peter, who had intentionally remained conspicuously absent from the stables. He still held out hope that his relationship with his stubborn little captive would change, but knew that time was his best ally at this juncture.

Although Neal didn’t want to admit it to himself, he was actually feeling a bit of peaceful contentment in this new world. He enjoyed the company of the beautiful beasts as well as Keenan’s reassuring presence. He tended to keep his distance from the other men on the estate who routinely lent a hand in the stables, and he stayed far away from the frequent visitors who came to view the horses to broker deals for either their sales or having them stand at stud with their fillies.

Although Neal never saw Peter, occasionally Elizabeth would appear if she was needed. When a horse sustained an injury or had a hot swollen ankle, she would calmly apply her poultices in an attempt to heal them. She always smiled at Neal warmly and openly discussed her medicinal arsenal, telling him things like which plants reduced pain, encouraged clotting, or lessened edema. The young man learned the names of exotic herbs and their homeopathic benefits. He now knew that aloe was beneficial for bites or burns, black cohosh relieved muscle pain, and ginger and peppermint eased gastric problems. Neal listened and learned from El’s lectures, but the wise woman never mentioned her husband, and that was just fine with Neal.

After one of these visits, El broached the subject of the newest stable hand with Peter. “Neal seems like an intelligent, level-headed, and docile young man,” she began. “I’ve watched him around the horses and I think he has a good and kind heart, so I also believe that all your worries about him being a vengeful renegade are unfounded.”

“Well, I still don’t trust him,” Peter harrumphed. “Remember that old fable of the wolf in sheep’s clothing? He’s probably plotting and planning something during every one of his spare minutes, and I don’t intend to let my guard down around him for a second.”

“How can you foster a sense of trust if you’re not willing to offer him even a bit of yours?” El replied in exasperation. “I think both of you are too pigheaded to give it a try, so you’re at a stalemate! I think Neal deserves better.”

Peter threw up his hands. “Elizabeth, I make sure he is fed, clothed, and kept safe. I can’t make the boy happy. That’s on him and something he has to achieve on his own!”

“Well, Hon, you could make an attempt to help him along, maybe foster some kind of give and take in your relationship,” El said calmly after her husband’s frustrated outburst. “Be the stronger, better person and make an overture. You’ll soon be leaving to travel quite a far distance to inspect the foreign thoroughbred that another owner has for sale. Why don’t you make a little visit to the stables before you go?”

Peter was grumbling under his breath, but he had been down this road before. When Elizabeth requested something in her soft, gentle way, he knew the battle was over. Peter would talk to Neal before he left for probably what was going to be a fortnight.

Peter sauntered down to the stables the next day and saw Neal standing beside a tall stallion tethered to the railing in the enclosed corral. The young man was gently using a sea sponge to wash the animal down with water. Neal looked up as Peter approached, and a disdainful look settled over his face. The older man took notice of the obvious hostility and that seemed to set the tone for the encounter.

“I see Keenan’s keeping you busy,” Peter said sternly. “That should help to stymie any of your troublesome nonsense.”

Neal kept silent as he continued to squeeze rivulets of water down the horse’s flank. “I’m here to warn you about the upcoming days,” Peter continued. “I’ll be absent from the estate, so you are to obey Keenan to the letter. Do exactly what he tells you when he tells you. Don’t think this is an opportunity to go haring off, because, make no mistake, I will find you and drag you back, perhaps in less better condition than when I found you.”

Neal continued to be passive-aggressive with his deaf and dumb act, and Peter’s ire soared to new heights. “Tell me you understand, you little cur. If you’ve forgotten how to use your tongue, then just nod your head like these beasts that you tend to!”

Neal nonchalantly stooped to pick up the bucket of water, and then slowly began to pour the contents over the front of Peter’s boots until they were spattered with mud. After the bucket was empty, he gave Peter a quick affirmative nod.

Peter’s hands were clenched into fists that, by sheer willpower, remained at his sides. “That was a very impudent and childish thing to do,” he remarked in a dangerous tone. “I guess I was mistaken when I thought that I was dealing with a mature adult.”

“No, Peter,” Neal finally murmured, “you were dealing with one of your possessions.”

Keenan had witnessed this battle of wills, and when he saw Peter stomp off, he shook his head sadly. This was shaping up to be an uphill campaign with no end in sight, and Keenan wasn’t quite sure who would eventually claim the title of victor.


	8. Chapter 8

Peter left the next morning and had prudently taken along three stalwart armed men from the estate to accompany him. He was traveling with a fat purse of coins to a far off Germanic region of the world in the hopes of acquiring a fabled breed of horse with a distinctive white coat. He needed to be prepared and vigilant along the sometimes treacherous villain-infested roads.

The uneventful journey took over a week, and the unusual variety of horse was found grazing in the nearby meadow of a large estate similar to Peter’s. The nobleman who owned this private breeding stable led Peter on a tour, and explained the lineage of what he called the Lipizzaner line. Peter discovered that the horses weren’t really white, but rather a grey that became lighter each year as they matured. Actually, foals were born black, and the fading process took between six to ten years before it was complete.

Peter found himself enamored, and after a bit of haggling, purchased an adult stallion and a young mare. They were magnificent animals with wide, deep chests and muscular shoulders. The legs were also well-formed and strong with broad joints and defined tendons, and the eyes were large and expressive. Hopefully, over time, Peter would have the beginnings of the unique breed tucked away in his own barn.

When the little entourage of horses and men returned home, Peter was eager to show off his new prized possessions to both Elizabeth and Keenan. However, that was all suddenly forgotten when his triumphant entrance was interrupted by Elizabeth. Peter took in her drawn and worried face as she came hurrying out of the house to meet him in the courtyard, and he was suddenly sliding off his mount and grasping her in his protective embrace.

“What’s wrong, El?” he immediately demanded to know.

“It’s Neal,” the harried woman quickly replied.

Peter scowled and swore under his breath. “What’s the little bastard done now?”

“Oh, Peter, he’s very ill and we may lose him,” El replied solemnly. “When Keenan brought me down to the stables, the boy was burning up with fever and completely incoherent. I saw the red rash all over his body and knew he had contracted that horrible disease that both you and I had as children. When adults suffer from it, often times the aftermath is debilitating. Some poor souls are left deaf or babbling nonsense because their brain was somehow damaged. Unfortunately, others wither and die from a fever that doesn’t seem to respond to treatment. I’ve been brewing a tisane from spiraea leaves and trying to get it down Neal’s throat. Usually that works to reduce fever, but it’s not working on him.”

“Yes, I’ve seen what that blasted red scourge can do,” Peter replied, now also quite concerned. “You and I will be unaffected because we’ve already fought and vanquished that malady. But, most likely, Neal had no defenses against it, perhaps because his island was never plagued by it. He probably picked the dreaded thing up when we made landfall in the port city. What can I do to help?”

“Just stay with me, Peter,” Elizabeth entreated. “Sit right by Neal’s side and mine and will your strength into him so that he can conquer this disease.”

So, that is exactly what Peter did for the next two days. He watched Neal twist and turn as the fever raged and the rims of his eyes become more inflamed. He heard the boy shout unintelligible words in a foreign dialect and wondered if Neal was reenacting the battle that had taken place on his home shores so many months ago. Both El and Peter dribbled the fever-reducing potion down his red and swollen throat, and they draped cool cloths over his rash-covered body. It was heartrending to see him shiver uncontrollably even though he was burning up inside.

Eventually, both El and Peter took pity on his suffering and stripped off their own clothes to get into bed beside him to afford him the comfort of their body heat. El’s soft curves bracketed one side of the gravely ill patient while Peter’s thickly-muscled body took up the opposite position. Unfathomably, Neal gravitated toward Peter’s hard torso, and he suddenly became quieter and more settled as he molded his own naked body against Peter’s. Against his will, Peter found his nether region automatically responding, and he was glad that El didn’t see his shameful condition. Peter was a woman’s man, through and through, even if his captive was temptingly beautiful and attractive in a different sort of way. He knew that some people didn’t equate affection with gender. To Peter’s way of looking at it, love was a normal and healthy emotion that could be bestowed on anyone who was worthy of your devotion.

Finally, by the fourth morning, Peter knew exactly when Neal’s fever had abated. Peter awoke to discover the bedclothes were soaked and Neal was covered in sweat. Maybe the worst was now over, and Peter carefully tried to extricate himself from the patient’s embrace. The sick boy appeared to be still trapped in his reveries, and he grasped Peter’s body harder and snuggled in closer. He was no longer ranting in tongues, but rather murmuring softly in that strange language that Peter didn’t understand. Most disconcerting was that Neal’s hand had traveled down to Peter’s penis and was working it up and down so that it was rapidly becoming engorged. The flabbergasted man scrambled from under the covers, and his abrupt departure from the bed awakened El. To Peter’s mortification, his wife was staring at the obvious arousal below his waist.

Peter shrugged helplessly. “It’s morning, El,” he stuttered. “You know how it is. I have to use the privy.” And like a frightened cat, Peter fled from the room while Elizabeth chuckled at his discomfiture.

Peter dawdled in the kitchen until Elizabeth appeared. “Do you think he’s out of the woods?” he asked.

“I believe so,” his wife answered slowly. “He’s actually awake and making some sense. He’s agreed to try to swallow some broth, but it’s important that he stays in that bed for a few more days. I’ve put blankets over the windows to keep out the light which tends to hurt a person’s eyes during the progression of the disease. Watch your step when you go back into the bedroom.”

“Maybe I should go down to the stables to check on things,” Peter made his excuse. “I want to see how the new horses are faring.”

“Of course, Hon,” Elizabeth replied slowly. “You must do what you think you need to do.”

~~~~~~~~~~

During Neal’s long periods when lucidity had abandoned him, he had returned to his beloved island where he again found Caden. He reveled in feeling his lover’s body pressed against his own flesh, and muscle memory guided Neal’s hands in search of erotic pleasure and fulfillment. Unfortunately, those glorious feelings of being fondled and loved were fleeting, and often were juxtaposed with images that were frightening and unnerving. At first, Caden was making love to Neal, and then, without warning, he was falling dead and unresponsive on top of his lover. Neal’s psyche was torn—should he stay or should he go in this bizarre converse world?

The decision was made for him when he opened his eyes to find himself in a strange bed but with a familiar face staring at him intently. “Neal?” the pretty lady asked tentatively.

“Elizabeth,” Neal answered hoarsely.

“Oh, Sweetie, it’s so good to see you back with us,” she said in obvious relief. “You’ve been very ill, but, thankfully, you were strong enough to overcome a very serious disease. Peter and I were so worried. He just left a few minutes ago, but he’ll be back soon because he’ll want to see for himself that you are no longer on death’s doorstep.”

“Can’t you just tell him that?” Neal wheedled. “I’m sure that he has better things to do than check on me.”

Elizabeth sighed and offered a soft smile. “He’s been here through the worst part with you, Neal, so I think he’s entitled to have his mind put to rest that you’re getting better.”

An indifferent shrug was all the response she got.

Eventually, Peter, fully clothed, did poke his head inside the bedroom door. “It would seem that I can’t leave you alone for a minute because you always find some kind of mischief. You had El in a state. She was worried about you.”

“I know,” Neal mumbled as he stared down at his hands hidden in the dark. “I suppose you’ll expect me to apologize for upsetting your wife.”

Peter came a few more steps into the room. “What I really want you to do is regain your strength and maybe even that sarcastic and flippant attitude that I’ve come to know so well. I’ve been abiding your insolence for months, and I do believe I might miss it like a pesky itch that suddenly goes away.”

“So, you’re equating me with an annoying skin condition,” Neal said with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, I could compare you to a lot of other less benign things,” Peter shot back as he turned to go. However, he was surprised when Neal continued the conversation.

“Did you manage to get one of those unusual horses?” the boy asked curiously.

“Actually, I brought back two, a stallion and a mare,” Peter replied in an even tone. “When El deems that you’re strong enough, I can take you down to see them. They’re quite rare and unique.”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” Neal responded softly, much to Peter’s delight. Maybe a bit of horseflesh was common ground that could serve to make the walls begin to crumble.

~~~~~~~~~~

Even though Neal had been seriously ill, Peter was amazed at his recuperative powers and stamina. A week later, Neal was slowly walking beside Peter down to the stables to see the grey prizes. He ran his hands down their backs and over their withers before picking up and inspecting their feet and curling back their lips to view their teeth.

“These are really fine specimens,” he announced to both Keenan and Peter. “Do they tolerate being ridden?”

“Yes, they’re comfortable with a saddle on their backs,” Keenan answered. “When you regain the strength in your arms and legs, you can take them out for a gallop.”

“Have you been up on them yet?” Neal questioned Peter, who nodded.

“They’re very powerful horses, but I prefer my own black stallion. Maybe you can claim one of these grey ones for yourself,” Peter said casually, enjoying the confused expression on the boy’s face. Apparently, the brief truce had ended because Neal walked into the barn without a backward glance.

“Wars and conflicts aren’t won overnight,” Keenan said sagely as he gave Peter a wink.

~~~~~~~~~~

Neal found himself inordinately angry with Peter. Did that arrogant cretin really think he could buy Neal’s allegiance with a grey horse? The whole idea was ludicrous and insulting. Didn’t Neal still have a bracelet with Peter’s seal chafing his wrist? It was merely a small step up from those clunky leg irons that he had been forced to endure on the man’s ship.

When Neal got over his snit, he actually did eventually ride both the Lipizzaner stallion and its mate. They were beautiful and powerful creatures, but Neal preferred to spend most of his time with the pregnant sorrel who was getting bigger and bigger by the day.

“Her time’s coming soon,” Keenan predicted. And so it was because two nights later the ginger-haired man nudged Neal from his bed and led him to the specially prepared stall piled thick with cushioning straw. The mare was lying down and blowing out wheezing breaths. Neal sat by her head stroking and speaking softly as she labored to expel the contents of her equine womb.

Eventually, Peter and Elizabeth joined the two men and stood just outside the enclosure where the exciting drama was unfolding. Keenan had bound the long flowing tail in a cloth and pulled it away from the birth canal so that he could watch for the foal to begin its descent. After the mare’s sides seemed to heave, two small hoofs at the end of rail-thin legs became evident. Another contraction brought forth a long snout entangled in the thick white placenta and the beginnings of an equine baby’s head. Keenan pulled the membrane away from the pointy face and waited patiently. Foals didn’t just drop like stones into their new world. They took the journey slowly and gracefully, a little at a time.

When the foal’s head and shoulders had completely emerged and lay wet on the straw, Keenan beckoned to Neal. “Come back here, my young friend, and help this new life come all the way out of its comfortable little nest.”

Neal moved purposefully and grasped the slick creature with hands that were steady and sure. He pulled with gentle pressure and the mare tried to help by heaving with yet another contraction. All at once, a new  little creature entered the world, coal-black and shiny, with a spikey mane and a broomstick tail. Neal was smiling softly when he made the discovery that the new baby was a colt. No one wanted to leave until this newborn, quivering in the straw, proved its mettle. The mare laboriously hoisted herself up and nuzzled her offspring, and within the hour, the colt had gotten control of his four new limbs and was nursing under his dam.

“Watching the beginnings of a new life is always awe-inspiring to me,” Elizabeth said with a catch in her voice. Peter felt the pang of her regret about not being able to have more children.

“Want to name this one?” Peter said to change the subject.

El smiled. “I think that honor should go to the person who pulled this little one into the world. Why don’t you give him a name, Neal?” she urged.

The young man looked startled. “Perhaps I should think on it,” he waffled without actually agreeing.

“You do that,” Peter prodded with a fond smile on his face. “Just let us know what name you decide is the right one for him and we’ll enter it into his pedigree log.”


	9. Chapter 9

Neal, with Keenan’s blessing, spent most of his free time with the new baby and its mother. He would sit in the stall caressing the foal’s head and shoulders and massaging his flanks as he crooned to the creature in the soft lilt of his native tongue. The tiny horse seemed to have imprinted on his almost constant caretaker and wobbled after Neal like a little duckling. Even when he was a bit older and was taken out into the corral, he was never far from Neal’s side. Eventually, the dam and her offspring were turned loose in a small, isolated paddock away from the other horses. Neal would stand at the rail for hours enjoying the bucolic picture as the feisty colt scampered around throwing up his heels and whinnying in a high-pitched testament to his zest for life. Neal envied the animal his freedom and pictured himself as a boy unencumbered by restraint or worry. That image seemed to have happened to someone else, not the person he had become.

Peter kept pestering Neal to provide a name for the young animal. “That colt is still just a number in the equine ledger. Why is it so hard for you to come up with a name?”

Neal would just shrug and try to ignore the inquisition. In the boy’s mind, if you bestowed a name on something, that denoted that you held some kind of authority over it—perhaps the ultimate power of telling someone or something who they would forever be. Neal didn’t desire control over anyone but himself.

The badgering continued when, several months later, Peter made an observation that rankled Neal. The lord of the estate was standing in the stable yard watching Neal saddle the mare as a mount for Elizabeth, who frequently rode out into the forest to collect her herbal specimens. The colt was nearby in the enclosure, nudging at Neal’s elbow every now and again in an obvious bid for attention.

“That young horse should be wearing a halter by now,” Peter decreed.

“He doesn’t need one,” Neal said casually. “He never strays far and he returns to my side when I beckon.”

“Well, he’s still a fledgling animal but he won’t always remain that way,” Peter replied. “He’ll be growing into a yearling quite soon, and without any restraint training, he’ll be wild and unmanageable.”

“Do you really believe that restraining a creature is the only way to make it submit to your will?” Neal asked wryly.

Peter heard the double entendre, loud and clear, but chose to overlook the implications. “All of the halters in the stable have my crest on them. If a horse manages to get loose, whoever finds him will know that he is mine.”

Neal turned to Peter and held up his wrist with the copper bracelet. “Like this?”

Peter sighed. “Neal, I don’t wish to fight with you today. Can you just let it go?”

But Neal wasn’t quite done. “Did you know that where I came from, the islanders didn’t have a word that meant _‘mine.’_ Nor would they have been able to understand the concept of avarice or personal possession because everything was communal and shared.”

“Neal,” Peter argued, “when we reminisce about our pasts, most people remember the way their minds wish to recall events. I mean, nobody would want to remember the bad things. So, we idealize our past years as pleasant microcosms without any pain or disappointment. However, that’s not always accurate.”

This time Neal wheeled around to face his captor and his expression was wrathful. “I remember every painful detail of my past days and I’m never going to forget a thing!”

It was at that moment that El arrived carrying two wicker baskets. She looked from one glaring man to the next and silently sighed before making an impromptu decision to end the impasse. “Neal, perhaps you might like to broaden your knowledge of homeopathic herbs. If you’re not needed here, why don’t you join me on my ride this beautiful spring morning?”

After a beat, Neal turned to the lady and said deferentially, “I’ll ask Keenan if I can accompany you, Miss Elizabeth.”

“Damn it, just go!” Peter bellowed causing both the mare and the colt to startle. When El raised an eyebrow, Peter turned and stomped off without a backward glance.

~~~~~~~~~~

Elizabeth was right; it was a beautiful day. After the harsh winter, it was pleasant to know that the white haze which made the grass stiff in the morning would melt away with the early morning sunlight. El and Neal rode, side by side, in silence with the colt following along on their heels. Elizabeth was well acquainted with the woodlands and knew where she wished to harvest plants that she identified for Neal using strange words like tansy, hyssop, and feverfew. She patiently held a specimen of each one up for Neal to examine before listing its healing properties for annoying maladies such as headaches, coughs, and even stiff joints.

As they exited onto a meadow, Neal helped Elizabeth to dismount so that she could begin amassing red clover and place it into her overflowing basket. Neal was hunkered down next to her using the small blade she had given him to cut the stems, and he was surprised when the educational lecture veered off in a different direction.

“I know that you are very unhappy here,” El said softly. “I’m sorry that you feel that way, but I can certainly understand your discontent. It’s only normal to miss your homeland.”

Neal slid the woman a sidelong glance but remained silent.

“Was where you came from very different?” El continued to probe gently. “Can you tell me about it?”

Neal heaved a put-upon sigh. “It was much warmer than this place,” was his only terse response.

El smiled softly, “Maybe, in time, you will come to accept here as your homeland.”

Neal turned to her with a hard look. Tapping the blade of the small knife on the copper bracelet encircling his wrist, he replied, “My fate is to endure captivity.”

“Neal, listen to me and hear my words,” El responded firmly. “You are neither a prisoner nor a slave. Peter can be a gruff man, and he sometimes cannot express his intentions or his feelings in a sensitive fashion. He doesn’t consider you to be a piece of property. He has grown very fond of you and worries about your safety. Being alone in a strange world without the option of returning to what you once knew puts you in a precarious position. He just wants to protect you. If you try to meet him halfway, you may be surprised with the results.”

When the taciturn young man had once again retreated into his shell of silence, El reached out a tentative hand to gently rub her thumb over the copper circle. “Did you know that this type of metal is said to reduce stiffness in a person’s body? Perhaps it may work its wonders on the rigidity of one’s heart as well.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Time moved along slowly. The sameness of his days should have been calming for Neal, and perhaps they would have been a healing panacea if his prophetic dreams hadn’t begun to recur. On many nights, he would surge to wakefulness in a panic, only to find himself in a darkened room hearing Keenan’s loud snores. It took him awhile to fall back asleep because the nightmares were intense and quite vivid.

In his dreams, Neal first smelled smoke and then beheld tongues of fire coming closer and closer as they licked greedily at the walls around him. He heard the frightened screams of the horses and felt the earth tremble under his feet as the crazed animals sought to escape a horrible fate. Neal watched his terrified dream persona frantically darting in and out of the stable searching for a young black colt who had no name. The creature was in grave danger and Neal knew he had to do everything in his power to save it from death. Perhaps the most disturbing image was that of Peter, who stood unmoving like a statue, with only his hard eyes locked onto Neal’s. It was then that Neal became possessed by a white-hot fury so alien to his placid nature. In his nightmare, Neal avenged a long ago act of depravity.

Of course, Neal didn’t share any of this prophetic distress with anyone. He knew it would happen, just not when. He considered leading the colt far out into the forest under the cover of darkness and setting it free, but he knew the trusting and emotionally attached animal would never stay away. He would come back to what was familiar and safe, even though Neal knew it wouldn’t remain that way in the future. Neal had already lost so much. How could he possibly endure losing another soul that he loved with all his heart?

The dream came again. As before, the prelude was the smell of smoke, this time so acrid and thick that Neal fled his dream and sat up with a start. He bolted from his bed and savagely yanked on Keenan’s arm. “ _Fire!_ ” he shouted as he ran from the room.

Keenan was right on Neal’s heels, quickly grabbing buckets of water hanging in the stalls in an attempt to douse the bright dancing flames growing more intense by the second. _“The horses, Neal!”_   he bellowed. _“Get the horses out!!”_

Neal was already at the mare’s stall, and he quickly guided her beyond the stable doors with the colt following close behind. The other horses sensed the alien danger and were rearing in their enclosures and whinnying in terror. Much to Neal’s dismay, the colt skittered behind him as he dashed from stall to stall, dodging flailing hooves and massive bodies as they thrashed and threw themselves at the walls. Neal removed his own shirt and covered wild equine eyes to lead many to safety until, eventually, there ensued a terrifying stampede of demented animals who crashed chaotically through the wooden rails in the yard and thundered off. Only the small colt remained, steadfast and trusting, by Neal’s side.

“Come away with me,” Neal entreated the animal in the foreign tongue that was so familiar to the creature. Man and beast were quickly rounding the corner of the burning building when the unthinkable happened.

Peter had seen the flames from the window of his manor house as had many of the denizens in the adjacent cottages. One by one, each man and woman hurried to give assistance, as did the owner of the stable. Peter was frantic. Not only were the horses in danger, but so were Neal and Keenan. The distraught and worried man had almost reached the conflagration when he was literally struck dumb. Peter was able to remain on his feet but the blow to the side of his head stunned him where he stood. He staggered drunkenly and when his vision cleared, he gazed in stupefaction at the sight standing before him. The person glaring into his face was familiar, and it took a few seconds before Peter could place this menacing figure holding a long dangerous blade in his fist. It was Neal’s would-be rapist whom Peter had taken great pleasure in flogging within an inch of his miserable life.

“Not so high and mighty now, are you?” the despicable man sneered at his victim as he raised a hand intent on plunging the knife deeply into Peter’s chest.

Peter was too dazed to react, even when the assassin suddenly jerked and his eyes widened in confused distress. In the next second, he was falling heavily into the dirt at Peter’s feet. The man’s body spasmed once and then grew still. Peter couldn’t seem to comprehend what had just happened until he saw the sharp tines of a pitchfork fatally impaling the now inert body. Neal looked dazed as well as he stared at the implications of his impulsive act. He, too, couldn’t seem to comprehend why he had acted as he did. When Neal and Peter’s eyes met, there were unanswered questions in both of their confused gazes.


	10. Chapter 10

The stable couldn’t be salvaged, but Peter was determined to rebuild. He agreed with Keenan that the new structure, like the manor house, should be made from locally quarried granite, and that process was a long one. As Peter had predicted, nearby farmers slowly caught the errant horses, and even those residing at greater distances recognized the animals’ owner because of his crest on the halters they wore. Cooperative families agreed to house them until the new quarters were completed. Of course, the colt stubbornly loitered close by, and Peter grudgingly allowed Neal to erect a temporary lean-to type structure to house the beast. Now both Neal and Keenan spent their nights in the manor house and were guests at the nightly dinner table in the evenings.

Keenan was a product of his environment and had grown up and lived his whole life in the area. Like a thirsty man, he craved a knowledge never personally achieved in the world beyond this realm. He would entreat Peter to spin stories of the mysterious places that he had encountered on his travels around the globe. So, Peter would expound on the various lands that were the haunts of people who looked decidedly different and spoke their own alien language. He described foreign foods and climates and even things for which he had no frame of reference. However, Peter was always circumspect when it came to describing warfare or its aftermath. He never alluded to a warm, beautiful island aptly named Utopia.

Surprisingly, Neal would sometimes join the conversations. Although the days of his youth were just as parochial as Keenan’s, his knowledge was much broader thanks to the ancient books and journals tucked away in the archives of his former metropolis.

“Of course, I have no firsthand experience,” he would offer shyly, “but I did read ancient texts describing many different clans of faraway people. Some old tales told of a civilization residing in the east with jet-black hair and dusky skin who lived beside a mighty river. Those strange people would erect wide triangles of stone that ended in a high peak. Other tribes of the northern climates looked quite different. Their hair was straw-colored or even had the same burnished hue like yours, Keenan. They sailed in mighty vessels and wore helmets with horns on their shaggy heads. It was postulated that they were intrepid voyagers who ventured far to the southern part of the world where they encountered another populace with black hair and tan skin. Those people with broad, flat faces also built great triangles of stone. However, those edifices had no peaks. The tops were flat and said to be an altar where human sacrifice took place.”

“So, they were devil worshippers?” Keenan asked.

Neal shrugged. “It was just their way, and it is beyond my scope of understanding.”

“How about where you once lived, Neal. What was that like?” Keenan asked innocently.

“That world is now gone and I don’t wish to speak of it,” the boy responded shortly.

~~~~~~~~~~

Elizabeth was pleased that there seemed to be a slow thawing in this ice wall between her husband and his ward. “Let him move at his own pace, Peter. If you push, he’ll retreat back into his shell like a reclusive turtle.” It wasn’t an ideal situation, but Peter was gratified for whatever he could get.

Neal was much more open and comfortable with Elizabeth. Many times, the boy would slack off from his work on the stable construction and accompany Elizabeth on her meanderings across the estate. Neal would fling himself up on the now strapping and muscular yearling with a glistening black coat and pull El up behind him. They always rode bareback without even the aid of a bridle and bit. Neal could direct the animal’s movements with his knees, and man and horse seemed to communicate telepathically. During lazy afternoons, Neal and El would talk of many things while sitting quietly in a meadow or under the shade of a forest tree.

“I hope you realize, Neal, that I’ve grown to love you in my own way,” El said on one such day as she peered into the boy’s open face. “Love for another is something that will endure forever within you even if that person one day leaves your side. They’ll still be with you for all time. I know that you’ve suffered a tragic loss of a loved one, as have I, so I can empathize with your pain. People speak of heartache metaphorically, but I know that hurt is something that you feel physically in your chest.”

“Why are you speaking of this?” Neal asked suspiciously.

El ignored his question. “You once told me that it is your fate to endure, and so you must. Peter, likewise, must continue on as well.”

Then the poignant and strange conversation abruptly ceased as El scrambled to her feet and walked off to the grazing colt. “Come, dear boy,” she called over her shoulder. “I find that my supply of sage is waning, so we need to replenish it.”

Neal was perplexed but refrained from asking anymore questions. However, El’s disturbing words stayed inside his head and prompted more dreams. On many nights, the boy would see Elizabeth walking slowly off into the distance, turning, as always, to favor him with a smile. As the days and weeks wore on, her smile seemed a bit sadder and her corporal body began looking more frail and wan. Little by little, she seemed to be fading away. Of course, that prompted Neal to observe her more closely. He was now residing, along with Keenan, down in the new stables, so his times with her were sporadic. However, at each chance encounter, he was horrified to see El becoming weaker and weaker. She now seemed to prefer remaining in the manor house instead of venturing out into her beloved forests and fields.

One afternoon, Neal deigned to take himself up to the main house on the estate. He had a bouquet of purple larkspur within his hands. He didn’t know if it had any healing properties, but it was pretty to look at and he hoped Elizabeth might enjoy having it near. Peter was somewhere out on the vast grounds, so Neal and El had a bit of solitude together as she languished on a sofa in the great room.

“These are so lovely, Neal,” she cooed softly. “Thank you for your thoughtful gesture.”

“How are you faring, Miss Elizabeth?” Neal inquired timidly. Actually, the young man was shocked to witness her thinness and her pale lassitude.

“I think you know the answer to that,” she answered carefully.

After a few uncomfortable seconds, Neal reluctantly agreed, “Yes, I’ve seen it in my dreams.” That short statement marked the first time he had confessed of his ability to foresee the future—a secret that had never been shared with another living soul.

“Yes, I’ve seen it as well,” the ailing lady replied calmly. “I’ve witnessed this strange malady as it wantonly ravaged others that I have attended over the years.”

“Don’t you possess some strong potion made from your herbs that could vanquish this evil invader?” Neal asked hopefully.

El smiled sadly. “That would be like fighting against my own body, I’m afraid.”

“Can you make me understand?” the boy begged.

Elizabeth took a painful breath into her lungs and tried to explain what she only suspected. “I believe that a person’s body sometimes turns on itself and begins to gnaw away at its own inner strength. Perhaps the onset is an insidious one, but as time goes on, the hunger grows and becomes insatiable until that unnatural appetite has used up everything that makes us who we are. That is when we close our eyes for the last time and leave our loved ones behind.”

Neal didn’t understand the mechanics as she laid them out, but he was keenly aware that this sweet, gentle soul would one day, probably very soon, claim her place in his heart beside Caden. “Does Peter know?” he asked.

Elizabeth looked melancholy. “I’ve tried to prepare him, but my husband is doggedly stubborn and thinks he can bend nature to his will. I’m afraid that he strives to deny what he sees with his own eyes. It will be a hardship for him to finally realize defeat, and I hope that you will stand beside him to offer your own strength in the days that follow.”

“You have my word,” Neal whispered sadly.

~~~~~~~~~~

After the moon had completed just one more cycle, Neal was summoned by Peter. When the young man made his way up to the manor house, Peter merely pointed to the bedroom and said gruffly, “El wants to speak to you alone.”

Neal knelt by the dying woman’s bedside and clasped her cold hand in his. “I’m here, Miss Elizabeth,” he whispered.

“Neal, my beautiful, beautiful boy,” El wheezed out faintly. “You must repeat your pledge to me. You must promise to stay with Peter and to do everything within your power to get him through my death. He does love you just as he loves me, so please try to find it in your heart to return that emotion.”

“I swear to you my solemn oath,” Neal said earnestly as he felt his eyes mist over.

Elizabeth wasn’t quite finished with her plea. “I mean for you to sustain him in any and every way, be that in any room in this house. He will need the warmth and comfort of another by his side for many days to come.”

“I understand,” Neal answered earnestly. “He won’t be alone.”

“Good, now go and ask my husband to return,” El managed to rasp out weakly.

Neal found Peter in the kitchen upending a tankard of the strong spirit he called rum. He looked bleary-eyed and unsteady on his feet, so Neal took his arm and guided him back to El’s bedside. “May I stay?” the boy begged. Peter merely flicked his hand and didn’t answer, so Neal retreated to the wall and hunkered down on the floor for the death vigil.

Elizabeth’s breaths were now coming in sporadic cycles and Neal could hear the rattle emanating from her chest. Peter was holding his wife’s hand tightly and saying not a word as he sat still as a statue carved from stone. Like a clock slowly winding down, the ominous sound gradually diminished until there was only empty silence in the darkened room. Neal was startled when Peter’s voice suddenly split the air like a machete, “No! No! No!” he bellowed in a rage.

Neal scrambled to his side, and, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder, whispered softly, “It was meant to be.”

Peter turned his agonized face toward Neal and there was fury blazing in his red-rimmed eyes. He suddenly backhanded the boy and sent him reeling. Before Neal lost his balance and fell, Peter was on him, tightly gripping his thin shirt and keeping him erect while he began a fierce pummeling with his fists. Angry words flew from the man’s lips—“Shut up! Shut up! Shut your fuckin’ disrespectful mouth.”

Neal endured the beating that seemed to go on and on. He was pliant and didn’t raise a hand in his own defense. Just as suddenly as it had all erupted, it came to an abrupt halt as Peter released his bleeding captive and fell to his own knees. A gut-wrenching keening began as the proud man wept the tears he had kept at bay for so long. A bloody and bruised Neal crawled to his tormentor’s side and placed an arm around his shoulders. Like two survivors of a horrific, unspeakable cataclysm, they clung to each other in their overwhelming grief.

~~~~~~~~~~

Peter and Neal were joined by Keenan and all the other country folk who had come to love the gracious healer. They laid El to rest near the forest in the shade of a mighty oak tree, and Neal had stayed on in the manor house after the ensuing wake. Grieving was a process that set its own timetable, so the young man was patiently attentive. Peter actually let himself be guided in the day to day progression of climbing from a deep abyss. Although he mechanically fortified his body with food and water, his nights were disjointed times of misery. He used rum to dull the pain. Neal would hear him thrashing and calling out to someone who was no longer there. The boy would slip into bed and gently cradle the overwrought man in his embrace. It didn’t seem unnatural when, as time passed, an inebriated and unmindful Peter let his hands roam over another warm body in the dark.

Neal knew he was but a substitute for someone else, but he tolerated the rough drunken fondling which eventually morphed into more insistent encounters. Peter would push his engorged penis into Neal’s depths and ride him hard until he found his release and could roll off into blessed dreamless oblivion. The two men never spoke of the harsh nightly couplings in the light of day, but Peter seemed to be mentally healing a little at a time. Keenan noted Neal’s absence from his bed in the stables and suspected that he knew what was occurring in the manor house. The red-haired man was a realist and accepted what had come to be a result of overwhelming sorrow and emptiness. He was loyal to Peter and quite fond of young Neal, so he silently wished they would both eventually find what was necessary to make them whole again.


	11. Chapter 11

The seasons marched on in a relentless progression—summer turned into fall, and then there was winter and another spring. Neal wasn’t quite sure when Peter began to really see him instead of Elizabeth’s ghost. Perhaps it was when Peter began to caress his face in the light of a flickering candle and kiss him deeply and passionately with a tongue that was demanding. Neal would slide down Peter’s body and take an eager cock into his mouth and provide pleasures that he had experienced with Caden a lifetime ago. Peter was learning to take it slow, as well, instead of plunging ahead blindly like a rutting bull. He learned to stretch the tight ring of muscle and use his own fingers and tongue to prepare his bed partner for what he now considered lovemaking instead of crude fucking. Each man attained new heights with their orgasms, and were left panting and spent on the bed linens redolent with the scent of their passion. For Peter, this suddenly felt right, and there was no regret, embarrassment, or shame. He knew that Elizabeth would have approved.

“Please promise that you’ll never leave me,” Peter would whisper in the darkness as he cradled Neal’s dark head onto his bare chest. “I couldn’t withstand the pain of losing another person that I love.”

“I’ll stay as long as you need me,” Neal would respond softly.

“Maybe I’ll always need you, Neal. Perhaps I’ve needed you with me since the day I dragged you from a battlefield strewn with the dead and dying,” Peter answered just as quietly.

“Maybe it was meant to be,” Neal replied after a few heartbeats.

“Perhaps it was,” Peter reluctantly agreed.

But just like all fairy tale stories, there had to be an ogre lurking somewhere, or a troll under a bridge just waiting to wreak havoc and mayhem. Of late, Neal was again cursed with an ominous premonition, but, this time, his dreams were disjointed and confusing. Instead of painting a fatalistic picture, there were just fleeting unrelated images that paraded before his closed eyes. Of course, every facet of the reveries was familiar—Peter, Keenan, and the black colt who had grown into a stallion as powerful as his sire. Perhaps most disturbing was the image of Caden standing on a white sandy beach. The ghost of Neal’s past lover was smiling and beckoning in an ethereal way. Was Neal seeing a foreshadowing of his own death? If the young man had come to accept anything over the years of his life, it was a confirmation that you couldn’t change your fate. You just had to endure this life until what was preordained had come to an end. If there was anything positive about the possibilities of the dreams, perhaps it foretold that, on the day of reckoning, maybe he would be joining those loved ones who had gone before.

Peter had intuited Neal’s almost undetectable tension in recent days. The young man was still a willing and eager participant in their nightly lovemaking, but Peter sensed that a tiny part of Neal wasn’t fully engaged, almost as if he was standing outside of himself and hovering just beyond Peter’s reach.

“Tell me why you’re having trouble staying with me?” Peter asked one night after Neal had mounted his lover’s hips and rode his cock until he was panting and struggling for breath.

“I don’t understand what you mean,” Neal murmured in the dusky light. “We were actually a part of each other for quite a while tonight. I doubt we could have been much closer.”

“I’m not talking about physical proximity. It’s your mind, Neal, that often times seems to be residing in another place. Care to let me come along and see what you see?” Peter asked nonchalantly.

“You don’t want to see what I see,” Neal said firmly.

“Well, then how about if you tell me what you’re thinking?” Peter pushed. “Are thoughts off limits?”

Instead of being forthcoming, Neal chose another circumspect path. “Peter, do you accept that everything around you is all there is to life?”

“That’s a very broad concept and you’ll have to be more specific,” Peter said carefully, wondering if Neal was alluding to boredom and a sudden wanderlust to leave the manor—to leave him.

The young man sighed, almost sorry he had opened the door to some dark corridors. “Each man is born into a world—his world—that is comprised of all that his five senses experience,” he began slowly. “He sees, hears, smells, feels, and tastes everything in his environment, no matter how small or vast that world may be. But man is a unique creature. Not only can he interpret input from his senses, he is also capable of using what he knows to formulate aesthetic concepts. Perhaps that allows him to envision another realm, a world that he hasn’t yet experienced.”

“Neal, are you speaking of some kind of religious belief?” Peter asked in puzzlement, realizing that he had absolutely no knowledge of the culture from which Neal had emerged. Did those islanders embrace a pantheon of gods, or espouse some kind of belief in a higher power? The young man had steadfastly refused to discuss his past, and Peter wondered if he pushed now, would Neal go silent? Peter had firsthand knowledge of a truculent Neal when he didn’t wish to communicate.  

“Not religious,” Neal finally answered. “A formal tenet of beliefs would be too constricting and couldn’t truly encompass the vastness of everything that man knows or hasn’t yet come to know. Perhaps I’m referring to something less substantial and familiar—like an intangible awareness not related to our senses, or a lightness of spirit that recognizes no boundaries.”

“I’m afraid you may be residing somewhere over my head,” Peter said in confusion. “I really am having trouble understanding your meaning.”

“I guess I’m talking about death and what happens when the last grain of sand in our hourglass has run out,” Neal replied reluctantly. “Is there an energy within us which manages to begin a new journey to find peace?”

“It would be comforting to think that we would go on in some way,” Peter replied tentatively.

“What do _you_ personally think,” Neal was now the persistent one. “Explain your credo to me.”

Peter thought about this and chose his words carefully. “I suppose that I am one of those unevolved people who hasn’t moved beyond believing in only his five senses. That is what I know because it is factual and it doesn’t change. Hot is hot, loud is loud, vinegar tastes sour.

As for mankind as a whole, I think we are born into an imperfect world and have to make our way through the days as best as we can. It certainly isn’t a very ideal place because I believe that humans are chaotic and sometimes evil creatures capable of unimaginable atrocities. It is either in their natures or learned from others. I sometimes wonder if there exists an equal portion of good in the world to balance the scales of what is often times a dangerously lopsided situation. As for an existence that transcends death, well, since I have no frame of reference, I suppose I’ll just have to believe that when I close my eyes for the last time, there is no more.”

Neal didn’t respond, and when the silence lingered, Peter felt compelled to ask the very same question that Caden had asked of his lover long ago on a distant shore. “Neal, are you afraid of dying?”

This time, the young man did respond. “No, Peter, perhaps I am afraid of living.”

~~~~~~~~~

The evil villains in this story came riding out of the west one day, armed and dangerous and overwhelming. Peter had a forewarning of the threat that didn’t come from Neal’s dream. He saw the columns of smoke far off in the distance, and the acrid smell of death wafting over the pastures was causing the thoroughbreds to prance nervously and roll their eyes in an almost primal fear. Peter was making ready to ride out with Keenan to investigate the ominous situation when one of the young sons of a tenant farmer on his estate managed to make it to the manor house, almost catatonic with fright.

“Get your wits about you and tell me what is happening?” Peter demanded harshly.

“There are legions of them, a mounted cavalry and infantrymen on foot,” the traumatized boy gulped in obvious dread. “The scourge that is not far behind me is like a blanket of locust that covers the fields as far as the eye can see.”

“Describe them,” Peter barked out impatiently.

“They are devils from deep in the earth,” the superstitious boy declared. “They are clad in heavy black mail and wield long swords and pointed spikes. They bring death.”

“Do these ghouls fly a banner?” Keenan wanted to know.

“Yes, but not the one with three colors like before,” the boy replied. “They display a black cloth with a red creature across its folds—a scary golem with the head of some strange animal but the body of a serpent,” he added with a shudder. “I saw it clearly before I hid in the root cellar.”

“So, I would guess they are burning and looting,” Peter mused.

“Sire, they are _killing_ and burning,” the tearful boy sobbed. “My own parents fell beneath their swords even though they offered no resistance. I was a coward and stayed hidden while the evil hoard slaughtered our chickens and swine and threw the carcasses onto long wagons. It was then that they set fire to our cottage causing me to flee. I ran through the forest, but they cannot be far behind.”

Peter grabbed the frightened child by his tunic. “Listen to me and hear my words. Do exactly as I say. Hurry down to the stable and mount a horse. Ride as if the wind is carrying you to all the outlying cottages to the east. Tell the denizens living there to leave everything behind and to flee high up into the forest. Do not stop until your horse falls to the ground in exhaustion. Now go!” Peter finished his dictate with a shove to the boy’s back.

Keenan moved to stand beside Peter. “So what do you make of that tale? I’ve never seen a banner such as he described. Do you think this is some rogue regiment of mercenaries representing someone who is hellbent on usurping the triumvirate’s authority?”

Of course, Keenan was referring to what had been the status quo in the past ten years. But that had been a fairly recent development born out of chaos. For perhaps a century before that, what would become known as the Western World was a morass of war among dynastic monarchies, each jockeying for more territory to expand their empires. Bloody conflicts were non-stop, but all that seemed to accomplish was the decimation of coffers, men, and natural resources. Out of self-preservation, the three strongest opponents managed to broker an allegiance of sorts. They divvied up their vast territories like pieces of a pie, each taking a third to govern. The triad kept order in their realms by force, if necessary. The indigenous populace were tired of waging a constant battle against an enemy they hardly understood, so that was an easy state to achieve. They gladly handed over their yearly tithing and withstood the occasional absence of their men when their monarchs demanded their services. That is exactly how Peter had found himself pressed into service on a frigate three years ago when his ruler wished to conquer a new world far beyond the home shores. This feudal form of government should have ensured peace, but, apparently, there were clandestine invaders from the north who decided that they wanted the whole pie. They were here to make a very loud statement, and it seemed as if the innocent were to be the kindling to ignite the conflagration announcing their intent.

Neal had listened carefully to the conversation between Peter and Keenan. “So it would seem that we may be finding out, firsthand, if there is life after death,” he whispered softly into Peter’s ear. “Perhaps it is now my turn to ask you if you are afraid of dying.”

Peter gave a rueful smile as he answered just as softly, “And perhaps I should echo your answer, Neal. I think I am afraid of living.”

The scourge appeared within the hour, just as the young farm boy had described. A long black ribbon of determined warriors, heavily armed and ready to wreak their malice, bore down on the manor house. Peter, Keenan, and Neal walked from under the portico and met them in the dusty courtyard.

“What is your business?” Peter shouted up at a mounted figure at the head of the brigade who looked down on the older man with contempt.

“Our business is to take control and possession of all we encounter in the name of our sovereign leader,” he sneered.

“I am well aware of my liege’s name and title, but he rules under a different flag. It is definitely not the one which your standard bearers are holding aloft,” Peter parried.

The mounted warrior spat on the ground. “Your former liege was a weak pussy grown fat and lazy, and his head now adorns a spike outside his pitifully defended fortress. We are emissaries of a new order, and our leader is fierce and strong.”

“And who might that be?” Peter demanded to know.

“His name doesn’t matter to dead men,” the invader scoffed as he dug his spurs into the sides of his mount, a large Belgian draft horse with fringes of hair encircling its heavy feet.  

Suddenly, there was the sound of other feet, a thundering of hoofs pounding the earth. Neal’s faithful black stallion had been peacefully grazing down in a nearby pasture when his flared nostrils detected a smell that resurrected a memory in his primal equine brain. That odor of smoke was associated with his perception of great terror in his human companion. The horse sensed danger, which increased exponentially when his sharp eyes beheld an amassing of mankind greater than he could comprehend. The great steed raced around the grazing field, gaining momentum and heart, until he soared over the fence like a winged horse of mythology. He had to reach his human. He had to reach Neal and protect him from danger.

The Belgian gelding was startled by a sudden vision of mighty black fury coming straight at him. This frightening apparition skidded on the dirt and reared up, pawing the air with his vicious feet intent on maiming anything in their path. The draft horse shied fearfully, spilling his rider onto the ground. The fallen man was trying to unsheathe his sword when another rider quickly came forward leveling his deadly lance. That evil invader managed to drive the pike deep within the black stallion’s chest, and Neal watched in horror as the injured animal screamed and then crashed to the dirt. The brave horse flailed helplessly before his huge head descended and his form grew still.

Neal’s cries of pain were just as shrill, and he finally managed to move his paralyzed body towards his fallen mount. The unseated warrior had finally righted himself, and with his weapon in hand, advanced on a young man now lying atop a dead animal. The soldier had his sword raised, but was distracted when he noticed another oncoming threat. Two men were hastily advancing, and he turned toward the one closest—a giant of a man with red hair. The murderous villain then buried his weapon into a broad chest so deeply that he couldn’t immediately extricate it. That was the only thing that saved Peter’s life.

“Listen, and listen well,” the marauder yelled at the estate owner. “I will let you live so that you can spread the word of the new mighty power that now rules the land.”

Then the malicious warrior turned and began spewing out his orders. “Take all of the horses, even this dead one on the ground. The live ones can carry more of our troops, and the dead one can fill their bellies along with the slaughtered pigs and chickens. Search the house for anything of value and then set fire to it, the stables, and any other outbuildings. Burn them to the ground!”


	12. Chapter 12

Neal had retreated back into his world of silence. He moved like he was a dead corpse who’s limbs hadn’t yet gotten the message, so they continued to function. He and Peter had gently laid Keenan in the back of a small wagon, and like oxen in harness, slowly pulled his solitary funeral cortege high up into the forest. Neither spoke as they dug a deep grave very near Elizabeth’s final resting place. Peter wasn’t a religious man so he had no words beyond a heartfelt farewell to the man who had been a trusted friend for years. Neal was dry-eyed and whispered nothing.

They sat, side by side, on the forest floor after the burial, and Peter reached out a tentative hand to Neal’s forearm. “Perhaps there is something beyond the realms of this earth, a concept you were trying to make me understand just recently. Maybe good souls who have left us are now traveling on that road to find peace.”

Neal turned cold, unflinching eyes on Peter and said nothing. When Peter tried to encircle the young man’s body with comforting arms, Neal stiffened and retreated deeper into his own personal hell. Finally, Peter heard the tormented words, “I yearn to be on that journey as well because I no longer wish to endure.”

“Maybe what you want doesn’t matter,” the older man sighed. “As you also once mentioned, some things are simply meant to be.”

When dusk started to settle and the evening dew was dampening their clothes, Peter chose to be proactive. “Maybe we should set out to look for any other survivors who managed to reach safety in these woods. Whoever is left should band together in an effort to survive.”

Neal let himself be pulled to his feet. “Maybe you shouldn’t keep me around, Peter,” he said solemnly. “It would seem that everyone who matters to me comes to a horrible end. I’m like a bad talisman, a harbinger of death. I think you should leave me behind if you are determined to begin living all over again.”

“Just come with me for a little excursion, Neal,” Peter replied with pleading eyes. “There is one stop we should make before any hard and fast decisions about our futures are made.”

That destination was the burned out blacksmith’s forge down near the ruins of the stable. Peter poked through the ashes until he had unearthed a serrated blade, which he tediously applied to Neal’s copper bracelet. The soft metal eventually gave way, allowing Peter, with the aid of  metal tongs, to pry it from the young man’s wrist. “Now you no longer retain any connection to me, Neal,” he said softly. “You can go or stay. I will honor your decision because it isn’t very likely that I can adequately protect you anymore.”

“Why would you even want to go on?” Neal asked in a somber tone. “Everything that was home to you is gone—your wife, your friends, your possessions. What keeps you tethered to the land if there is no one left to live on it with you?”

Peter sighed and spread his arms. “All of this is what I know and have known for most of my life. I wouldn’t have the wherewithal to survive anywhere else. I would be like a fish out of water in some foreign land.”

Neal raised a cynical eyebrow. “I know that feeling well.”

Peter met Neal’s stare. “Maybe I’m too old to be brave and intrepid, or maybe I just don’t have the strength anymore to be as stubborn and resilient as you were. I don’t think I could, or even would want to survive in a different world.”

“I didn’t choose my destiny,” Neal argued. “An insistent ship captain foisted it upon me without asking me for my opinion.”

“I can’t change the past,” Peter said in rebuttal.

“No, you can’t,” Neal agreed. “But perhaps you can plot the course for your future.”

“So, exactly what is your idea of a ‘future,’ Neal?” Peter wanted to know.

“We simply walk away and let the light from our past begin to dim. Like brave new explorers, we’ll seek the light looming before us. That will be our future. Of course, it will be uncertain, but so is staying here feeling helpless and awaiting the next wave of greedy warmongers.”

“Don’t those demons pretty much comprise the entirety of the whole world?” Peter challenged. “Mankind is never satisfied with what they have.”

“You need to think bigger, Peter,” Neal replied. “There is life beyond these cold, northern land masses. When I was a child being tutored in geography, I remember seeing great parchments filled with blue water and green bits of what our people called continents. Some were vast or interconnected, but others, like my island, were separate little pearls strewn around the southern oceans.”

“That’s a pipedream, Neal,” Peter said. “As you are well aware, it takes months on a sailing ship to reach those southern seas, and that’s if we even manage to make it to the port city to attempt passage on a vessel. With no money, we can’t exactly book a cabin. And keep in mind, we have no means of transportation to get us to a town that is over a day’s ride away. So, young man, you have some pretty big potholes in your fairy tale journey.”

Neal rolled his eyes cynically. “We have transportation. We walk. I never saw a horse or rode atop one’s back until I came here.”

“You’re serious about this, aren’t you?” Peter finally said as he looked Neal in the eye. “I hope that you realize you could be trying to escape to a world that probably no longer exists.”

“But it’s a world within another larger one,” Neal said wistfully. “That’s where I belong. Are you willing to give up the world that you know, Peter, and exchange it for mine?”

Peter gave Neal a searching look. “You once told me that the possessive word _‘mine’_ wasn’t in your island’s native vernacular. So, shouldn’t you be saying exchange it for _ours_?”

For the first time since the murderous tragedy had occurred, Neal smiled.

~~~~~~~~~~

The two men set out along the road to the port town. With only a few meager tools salvaged from the forge and the clothes on their backs, it was a tedious process of putting one foot in front of the other. They slept on beds of moss in the forest at night and managed to fortify their bodies with spring water and small animals which they caught in their snares. They walked on in silence, always with an ear to detect an approaching threat. After three bone-weary days, the town was in sight and it was quite evident from the almost mass hysteria that word of the foreign invasion had preceded them. Merchants were hastily packing up their wares and using pony carts to flee farther south. Buildings, including the taverns and local brothels, were dark and shuttered. During the pandemonium, old people and children were being trampled in the streets as a frightened populace tried to outrun the new menace. Peter and Neal crept around the back of a local inn and breached a broken window. Like looters, they hastily appropriated dirty table coverings to carry abandoned food stuffs and discarded clothing with them. Unfortunately, they found no coins or weapons.

After several loops around the harbor, they managed to stealthily get aboard a large ship being outfitted with canons along its sides. The hastily-converted frigate had received orders to patrol along the coastline keeping watch for the marauders. Both men had a working knowledge of seagoing vessels, so they managed to blend in with a crew of assorted unfamiliar sailors. They stayed on the vessel for almost three weeks before jumping ship near a quiet little village with a protected cove-like harbor. A merchant ship was sitting at anchor about to set sail for the New World to fill its hold with sugar, tea, and exotic spices. This time, Peter and Neal actually signed on as a legitimate part of the crew.

A month and a half into their transatlantic ocean voyage, the craft ran into rough weather. Actually, it was a blend of environmental conditions that spawned the perfect storm. The vessel pitched and rolled until the main spar snapped and the ship tipped ominously onto its side. Angry ocean waves crashed across the decks causing the planking to snap like kindling. The once seaworthy voyager became anything but stable, and she finally floundered with her bow headed for the bottom of the ocean. Peter and Neal were literally swept overboard and began swimming aimlessly in the dark. Finally, they let themselves be carried along like debris until they felt sand under their hands and faces. Miraculously, both men had survived and managed to find each other along the dunes when the sun finally arose the next day.

Like ants arriving at a picnic, scavengers began emerging from isolated little enclaves farther inland. They were picking over the flotsam on the beach when they came across the two half-drowned survivors. The islanders perfunctorily offered temporary shelter in the form of hammocks hung haphazardly within small huts. These people spoke a language foreign to even Neal’s ear, and they spent their days fishing in outrigger canoe-like boats.

Peter and Neal needed to earn their keep, so they quickly learned how to cast their nets as well. After several months, Neal noticed a three-masted ship in the distance, and the two men again became thieves as they stole a craft and furiously paddled toward the horizon. The tiny outrigger was finally spotted from the crow’s nest, and the fugitives were hoisted aboard with a lie of their tongues. Instead of admitting that they were fleeing refugees, they claimed they were marooned merchant seamen on their way to the New World when calamity struck. They had no idea if all the other souls on board were lost. Perhaps just the two of them were the only survivors.

Peter and Neal were a curious oddity among the crew, who asked probing questions regarding their near-escape from a watery grave and their survival afterward. “We heard tales about some strange creatures who inhabit those solitary little specks in the sea. Some claim they’re cannibals who eat human flesh. You see any evidence of that while you was with ‘em?”

“The only thing we saw them eating was a lot of fish, but they surely didn’t have ambrosia like this,” Peter grinned as he held up his mug of rum.

“How come you ain’t drinking the grog, boy?” another sailor asked as he squinted at Neal.

“I’m afraid I never acquired a taste for it,” the young man grimaced.

“Well, what kind of seadog does that make you?” he was challenged.

“A sober one,” Neal grinned.

Four months later, the winds took on a warm fragrance that was once so familiar to Neal. The trees on the far-off islands had elegant swaying fronds instead of spiky needles, and even the birds seemed more graceful as they looped and dived in lazy circles. This was the land of Neal’s dreams, peaceful, serene, and as beckoning as Caden who was now a constant visitor in Neal’s nightly dramas. It was as if Neal’s former lover was a polestar guiding him to the proper hemisphere.

“I spent some time with the navigator and looked over his maps,” Peter told Neal one morning as the boy stood at the rail of the ship. “I’m not sure we’re anywhere near your island that was located many sea miles farther east. It seems like we’re currently rounding a peninsula that juts out from a large continental mass to its north. This little projection of land is bordered by two different seas, but no one has a name for it.”

“Perhaps home doesn’t need a name,” Neal murmured. “Maybe the only important necessity is the promise that your heart will find contentment. Do you think you could find peace and tranquility out there,” he asked softly as he gazed at a pristine land that seemed to ethereally shimmer in the golden sunlight.

“If I have you by my side, I know I’ll be very grateful and happy,” Peter answered with a tender smile.

~~~~~~~~~~

Many centuries would pass. Monarchies, domains, and empires would briefly coalesce for their moments of dominance before fragmenting into other entities with different titles. Boundaries would be carefully etched on maps, but then new maps were necessary because the borders were constantly changing. Multitudes of sovereigns would reign and then topple. But the only constant was the continual discontent and the need to wage war.

Through the ages, nothing changed during the almost continual discords except the weaponry. The tools of death had evolved from rudimentary lances and swords to other fearsome modalities—bombs, bullets, and blistering gases. However, the end result was the same—death and destruction in the name of a credo, an ideology, or just basic greed. Nothing would be learned from the lessons that were repeated time after time.

As history progressed, it left no truly peaceful places on the face of a world that had grown larger and more interconnected, but definitely no wiser. But once, long ago, Fate had led two people to a Garden of Eden where they did find peace, and it was where they had loved and lived out their days. Maybe they remained together in a hereafter. Who can know? Or maybe their unlikely bond remained intact throughout ongoing lives in the ensuing ages. Perhaps it was simply meant to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, let me say ‘Thank You’ to all the faithful readers who returned, chapter after chapter, to a sometimes sad and violent story. I cherished your kudos and your insightful comments. As to the conclusion of the tale, I ultimately wanted Neal and Peter to start over again in a place that was similar to where their relationship initially began. Yes, things had eerily come full-circle. Secondly, any references to reincarnation are purely flights of fancy derived from my convoluted mind. But then, who knows what is really meant to be?


End file.
